Little Pieces
by Hannah Taylor1
Summary: After some upsetting news, Brennan plans a quiet evening, which doesn't exactly go as planned.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This one's for Rose, who gave me a prompt to write for her as a pre-surgery present. I haven't felt well this week, so the first chapter is very short. The piece was intended as a one-shot, but will probably end up being 2 short installments. Next update to be posted on Thursday, as usual. Thanks to everybody who left me kind words about the conclusion of **_**One of Those Days**_**. I've made a mental note to write more fluffy one-shots, as it seems there's a definite craving for them. =) **

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She felt oddly peaceful, in spite of everything.

Her old sweats were waiting in the tumble dryer and felt good against her bare skin. She fluffed her towel-dried hair around her shoulders and headed for the kitchen where the kettle was boiling, perfectly timed to her 10 minute shower. Brennan chose her favorite over-sized mug, decorated by Angela with an abstract rendition of a lilac hibiscus and a red sunflower. It made the scientist smile for reasons known only to her best friend.

Brennan dropped a lavender tea bag into the steaming water. She wrapped her fingers around the cup and brought it to her cheek, enjoying the warmth before actually tasting the beverage. It had a light, sweet taste that didn't require additional sugar, but she added honey anyway. Tonight was about indulging herself.

She paused in the doorway to her living room, feeling content as she surveyed the array of furniture and personal belongings, all set against a spotless brick and concrete backdrop that suited her surgically precise mind. Angela had once referred to it as loft chic. Brennan preferred to think of it as an extension of her office at the Jeffersonian, where she would have been content to reside. Sweets would undoubtedly have commented that this was a dangerous blurring of boundaries, which reflected an unbalanced sense of self, or some such psychological gibberish.

Such questions didn't perturb Brennan. Why she should erect a wall between herself and the place where she was happiest? Granted, the lab's décor was somewhat too sterile even for her taste, so Brennan had chosen a warm pumpkin color for her walls, complemented by soft-edged lighting fixtures, burgundy throw rugs and dark hardwood shelves. It all came together to create her personal vision of _home_ on the rare occasions that she actually got to sit around and enjoy it. Like tonight.

Generally, her weekends were as productive as her work days. She enjoyed the comfort of daily routine and digressing from her typical schedule was frequently more stressful than it was relaxing for her. However, given the events of the last few days, she had elected to spend this weekend doing things solely meaningful to Temperance Brennan.

Stepping over to the 9 foot concrete table that Booth liked to refer to as her 'sacrificial altar,' Brennan set her mug down on a coaster, pushed play on her iPod and contemplated her project for the evening. Selecting a piece, she turned it in her hands, considering the edges and their ramifications for potential placement. She hummed along to the tune she'd preselected before stepping into the shower and made a mental note to tell Angela that her musical recommendation for a girl's night in had been well-appointed.

She was leaning forward to test her theory when an unexpected knock on the door made her glance at the clock in surprise. It was only 7:30. Most people she knew would be out on a Friday night, at a bar, a sporting event, or a concert, maybe.

Brennan glanced in a mirror at her damp hair, then down at her comfortable attire, and shrugged. Her sweats were worn to the point that they were halfway see-through. She had no sweater at hand to cover herself with, so whoever was at the door would simply have to deal with the prominent outline of her breasts against the thin fabric.

"Coming," she called curtly. She would send her uninvited guest away quickly, so that she could continue her evening as planned. Alone.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Daaaaaad," Parker moaned, scuffing his toe against the carpet. "Is she even here?"

"This'll only take a sec," Booth promised. Somewhere along the line, his sweet little boy had been replaced by an irritable pre-teen. "Bones'll want these files. If she's not here, we'll leave them at the desk."

"But it's _Friday_. Why does she want work stuff over the weekend?"

"Bones doesn't treat weekends like we do." Booth raised his hand to knock again.

The door swung open without warning. He opened his mouth to scold her for not asking who was knocking, then closed it again at the sight before him.

"Booth?"

She didn't sound super happy to see him. Then again, his partner wasn't dressed as he'd anticipated. He'd figured yoga sweats or jeans and a Tee, like she'd just gotten home from the lab and was ready to put in a few hours on her latest novel. But, judging from the way her hair was curling in tiny ringlets around her flushed, make-up free face, she'd just gotten out of the shower. Wide, damp patches on her shirtfront corroborated this theory, even as they led his eyes exactly where they didn't need to go.

Apparently unfazed by his father's dripping wet dream, Parker elbowed him in the ribs. "Hey, Bones. Dad has something for you."

Brennan crossed her arms in front of her chest, at least somewhat derailing Booth's dangerous imaginings. She glanced at the bundle of papers in his hand. "Yes?"

He hastily redirected his gaze and held out his offering. "I didn't get a chance to stop by the lab before, but I figured you'd want these."

She took them from him and opened the first folder, as Parker started inside.

"Hey!" Booth called. "Parker, that's rude."

"She doesn't mind. Do you, Bones?"

Brennan continued to flip through the paperwork. "It's fine."

"See?"

"Don't touch anything," Booth warned.

Parker wandered around, examining various sculptures. "Bones, your place is so beast. Why can't yours look like this, Dad?"

"How is my place a beast?" Brennan squinted at a faxed list of names.

"It means cool," Booth explained wryly, trying to keep an eye on his son while simultaneously tracking the beads of water slowly trickling down her throat, toward the over-stretched collar of her shirt.

"Did you need something from me?" she asked, finally looking up at him. Light glinted off the droplets in her lashes.

"Huh?"

With Hannah out of the picture, there was no harm in looking, but, _wow_. Brennan didn't even have to try to turn up the heat. All she had to do was stand there shuffling through a stack of potential suspect profiles, dripping and—

Booth shook himself mentally. "No. No, I didn't need anything. Just figured you'd, you know, find those helpful when you were doing whatever this weekend."

She regarded him with an odd look. "I'm not working this weekend, Booth."

"Oh." Booth frowned, suddenly realizing what an ass he had to seem like. Then again … since when did Brennan make real weekend plans, which didn't involve desiccated bodies? "Sorry, Bones. I didn't mean—"

"It's fine," she interrupted. "If I have time, I'll read through your findings."

"Don't," he retorted, grabbing the file back. "It can wait till Monday." He wouldn't ask about what she was doing instead of working. That would seem too intrusive, right? Damn. When had things gotten so hard between them? And here he thought they'd been making progress since Hannah exited stage left. "I'm glad, Bones. It's good that you're doing something besides—"

"_Shit!"_

A small crash sounded and both adults swung in the direction of Parker's frantic shout. Booth would have scolded him for the language, but he was too busy staring at the pieces of something lying all over Brennan's super-polished floor.

"Parker. _What did you do?"_

"I'm sorry!" his son cried. "I'm sorry, Bones. I'm so so sorry."

Brennan moved forward, eyes trained on the floor.

"I'm really really really sorry," Parker babbled, eyes darting from Booth to Brennan and back again.

Following Brennan, Booth took in the wide plywood board lying on the floor, amidst an assortment of colorful cardboard fragments. He'd expected a shattered pre-Columbian artifact, maybe, or a broken Tibetan mask. Not … puzzle pieces?

"I didn't mean to, Bones," his son pleaded. "Honest."

"It's fine." Brennan knelt slowly on the cold floor and began picking up pieces.

"We'll help." Booth glared meaningfully at his son before joining her on the floor. "I'm really sorry, Bones. He didn't mean to."

"It's fine," she repeated.

Parker scrambled to pick up farflung outliers. "I was just looking."

"It's fine."

"Would you stop saying that?" Booth snapped. "It's not fine. He shouldn't have touched anything. Had you gotten very far?"

"It was almost finished," Parker chimed in unhelpfully, as he dove under a couch to search. "I didn't mean to touch anything. I guess I musta leaned my elbow on the board to get a closer look and it flipped. I'm sorry!"

Booth picked up a pottery shard submerged in a puddle of what had presumably been tea before Parker launched his stealth attack. He handed it to Brennan, who examined it silently.

"He'll pay for the mug, Bones."

"It wasn't worth anything." She set the piece aside and continued to methodically scoop handfuls of soggy black cardboard pieces into a nearby box that had somehow escaped baptism by tannin.

"It had to be worth something."

"It was a gift," she replied calmly. "No financial sum can be ascribed to it. There's no need to attempt to make reparations for an accident."

Parker added several more pieces of shattered mug to the small pile and looked regretfully at the scientist. All traces of his earlier attitude had vanished. "I really didn't mean it, Bones."

"I know."

"Bones," Booth began, uncertain of what he could say. She'd been having what, for Brennan, must have qualified as a rare peaceful evening when he'd barged in with a reminder of all the work they had waiting for them on Monday, plus a clutzy tween.

"It's okay, Booth. It was only a puzzle and a coffee cup."

"We'll stay here until this mess is cleaned up. Then we're going home."

She shoved the hair back out of her face and finally looked at him. "I don't require your assistance. Nothing of great worth has been lost. You and Parker should continue with your evening plans."

Booth scowled at Parker's increasingly hopeful face. The Flyers' box seats were nonrefundable, so it was as much a punishment for him as it was for his son. "No way. He needs to learn a lesson."

Brennan sighed. "Whatever your disciplinary decision, I would like to finish cleaning up alone."

"You sure, Bones?" he asked. "We're not going to the game, no matter what."

Parker's face fell, but he wisely said nothing.

"Yes." She collected another 20 pieces and carefully shook the water off before placing them in the box. "This weekend, I require some personal space."

In addition to the unusual request, it was hard to read her tone and expression, which unsettled Booth. Even before the accident, something had felt … off.

He got to his feet awkwardly and herded Parker toward the door, glancing back to find his partner exactly where he'd left her, gazing with a strange look on her face at a shard of pottery in her hand.

"Night, Bones."

"Sorry again," Parker added contritely.

"Good night." Brennan never took her eyes off the broken piece.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Next week, Booth makes reparations for his son's mistake, leading to a very personal revelation from Brennan and a sharing of scars … not all of them metaphorical.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Part 2 of 3**

**Thanks so much to all the people who reviewed Ch. 2.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan muttered a curse as her phone rang, followed by a sharp knock at her door. She cast a wary eye at the puzzle she'd spent the past two days rebuilding. For a long moment she was tempted to ignore both interruptions, but the insistent knocking won out. She ignored the phone—it was far too soon for the call she was expecting.

"Just a minute!" She did nothing to conceal the irritation in her voice as she grabbed a sweater to throw over her skimpy tank top.

Across the room, the phone finally stopped ringing as Brennan unbolted the door and opened it.

Phillip Sinclair grinned hopefully and held out an armful of roses. "Happy anniversary."

She stared at him, bewildered. "What anniversary are you celebrating?"

"C'mon, Tempe." He leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek that she did nothing to reciprocate. "Six months ago we met on this day. You don't remember?"

"No," she said flatly. "Why would I recall the exact date you spilled coffee on me in a misguided attempt to garner my attention?"

He flashed another smile, his white teeth contrasting appealingly against his dark biker's tan. "It worked, didn't it?"

It had, Brennan had to admit. Even before he'd dumped a lukewarm espresso con panna down the front of her shirt, she'd noticed him at a nearby table. He wasn't particularly tall and his facial features lacked symmetry, but the red and white cycling apparel he was wearing made his strong physique immediately visible.

She leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms. "You were wearing sunglasses. Inside." This had particularly annoyed her.

"Black eye," he reminded her, pointing at the small white scar that remained from his head-on encounter with a sycamore. "That tree wasn't very forgiving."

She couldn't help smiling a little remembering his hyperbolic description of the accident. Phillip immediately pressed his advantage.

"How 'bout a coffee? For old times' sake?"

"There are no old times," she pointed out unnecessarily. "We only saw each other on a handful of occasions."

He scowled, scrunching his bushy, white-blond eyebrows together. "That's because you had your head full of Boots."

"Booth," she corrected. "And he is not the reason I stopped returning your calls. You repeatedly expressed your desire for a romantic relationship, even though I was very clear from the start that I was uninterested in dating." She indicated the bouquet in his arms. "It would seem that things haven't changed."

Phillip glanced at the flowers as though he'd never seen them before. "What? These? You thought these were for you?" He lobbed them down the hallway, causing Brennan to crane her neck to see where they had landed. "I just like carrying roses around. It's a biker thing. Don't read anything into it."

Brennan sighed, reluctantly amused by his antics. "Phillip, our relationship, if you could call it that, was physically unsatisfying. You proved as unoriginal in bed as the clichéd ploy you used to get me to notice you."

"Ouch." He winced. "Wow. Anybody ever told you you're hard on a man's ego?"

"Yes."

"What if I told you that had changed?" he asked. "We could spend the evening gathering empirical evidence to prove my point."

She laughed. Being pursued by a self-confident, attractive male was flattering, whether or not she was interested. "I would enjoy being your friend, Phillip. However, you previously stated that you are unwilling to maintain a completely platonic relationship with me."

"Not unwilling. Unable." His tone turned wheedling. "Temperance, you're not someone a guy can just hang out with. That would be … impossible."

Brennan said nothing as the door to the stairwell opened and Booth emerged carrying several large boxes. Spotting her standing in the hallway, he waved, took several step forwards and inadvertently trampled the roses. Surprised, he looked down at the increasingly battered bunch.

"Usually, tossing the bouquet happens in a church, Bones," he called. "I know you're kind of out of practice with these things but, trust me, it typically involves bridesmaids."

Phillip turned in surprise, his lips thinning as he spotted his rival. "So Boots is still in the picture."

"Booth," she corrected again, smiling as her partner made an exaggerated pantomime of throwing the bouquet, then ran after it like a football player. The boxes in his arms wobbled dangerously as he dove forward and caught the flowers just before they hit the floor again. "He was never out of the picture."

"You think he's funny." Phillip's comment was more offended than dejected.

"I'm a funny guy." Booth arrived at her doorstep and inserted himself seamlessly into the conversation. "Hiya, Bones." He brandished a stack of pizza boxes with an envelope taped to the top and lifted a plastic bag which held a six-pack of her favorite beer and several other items she couldn't identify. "Emergency rations."

"What's the emergency?" Brennan inquired.

Booth shrugged, completely ignoring Phillip. "Last time you took a personal day was during the first Ice Age. There had to be some disaster that stopped you from coming in without at least letting me know."

"Is your relationship with _him_ satisfying?" Phillip demanded, before Brennan could contest Booth's ludicrous hypothesis.

"Satisfaction guaranteed," Booth answered for her, muscling by Brennan into the apartment. He started towards her kitchen. "Paper plates are still in the cupboard on the left, right?"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan finally showed up in the kitchen when Booth was halfway through his second slice. He nudged the box across the counter in her direction. "That guy was an asshole."

"That is an assumption based on testosterone and your alpha male tendencies," Brennan retorted, grabbing a slice of her own and digging in.

"Nope." He didn't feel the slightest guilt at having sent her first visitor packing. "Gut feeling, Bones. That guy wanted in your pants."

"Many men want sexual intercourse with me." She opened a beer and took a long swallow. "While Phillip succeeded, I will admit it was a mistake."

His pizza tasted way better suddenly. Booth pointed at the plastic bag. "Parker sends his apologies."

He watched Brennan extract the brand new coffee mug, decorated with the image of a roaring lion and various scientific facts about the animal.

"He made me chase all over the city till I found that," Booth informed her.

"I don't understand." Brennan looked at the mug in confusion. "The gesture is nice, but—why a lion?"

Booth grabbed a bottle of his own beer—Chinese labels just didn't do it for him—and pointed at the envelope decorating the pizza box. Parker had made him check the missive so many times for spelling errors that Booth had it memorized. He recited it to himself as Brennan read.

_Dear Bones,_

_I'm really, really, really sorry for breaking your puzzle and your coffee cup on Friday. _

_I shouldn't have touched anything without your permission._

_I'm sending you this coffee mug because you did not know what beast meant when I said it. The lion is like a beast, like you thought I meant with your apartment. Get it?_

_I'm really sorry._

_Love,_

_~Parker Booth_

Brennan looked from the mug to the letter and grinned. God, he loved her smile any day, but especially when it had that triumphant little gleam just before she announced—

"Oh, I get it. I was not familiar with the teenage terminology that Parker used to describe my apartment. He recollected my misunderstanding and is using the mug as a play on words. I thought he meant my apartment was beastly, and he's given me a mug of a beast." Her eyes lit up. "That's very funny!"

Booth smiled into his beer and pointed at the bag again. "There's a present in there from me too, since I'm partially to blame for Friday's accident."

"This is unnecessary, Booth." Brennan peered inside the recycled Walgreen's bag again. She pulled out the puzzle and stared at it with similar confusion. "I already have a puzzle."

"Bones, your puzzle was of a skeleton. I saw the box when we were cleaning up."

"That is correct. Russ gave it to me as a birthday present. He had a puzzle made from a photograph of an anatomically correct skeleton. Why do I need another puzzle?"

He rapped his knuckles on the kitchen counter he was leaning against. "You told me you weren't working over the weekend, remember?"

"I didn't work," she said in surprise.

Booth shook his head. "Don't get me wrong—Russ's puzzle was a great idea, but it's like work."

"Why?" she asked, reaching for another slice of pizza.

"You were doing the puzzle standing up."

"I find it more comfortable than being on the floor."

"You had your iPod playing."

"I don't listen to music exclusively at work."

He counted off the similarities on his fingers. "Working on a skeleton, standing up, listening to music. Sound familiar?"

Brennan paused in mid-bite, considering. "Although it is a stretch, I can see where you would draw your conclusion from," she conceded. "Perhaps I found working on the puzzle relaxing because it reminded me of reassembling skeletons, which is another activity I draw pleasure from."

Booth snorted. "Yeah. Total stretch."

She looked at his gift again. "So you brought me a lighthouse to work on instead?"

"The beach, the sand …" He waved his beer for emphasis. "It's about as far as you can get from the Jeffersonian. That's what a weekend off is supposed to be."

"I appreciate the gesture, Booth." Brennan slid the box back into the bag. "Once I finish the skeleton, I can start on this."

He shook his head. "Nope." Grabbing her by the elbow with one hand, and hefting both the bag, pizza box and beer in the other, he steered her out of the kitchen. "Today."

She resisted slightly. "I don't want to start another puzzle when I haven't finished the first one."

"You work on more than one skeleton at a time at the lab." Booth gave her another nudge in the direction of the dining room table and smiled charmingly. "C'mon, Bones. Start this one with me. It'll be fun."

Brennan frowned at him, clearly weighing the pros and cons of arguing versus giving in and possibly chasing him away more quickly. Booth hid his own frown as his gut sent him urgent messages similar to those on Friday. His partner missed work for personal reasons, oh, about every thousand years, and he had every intention of figuring out what she was hiding, even if it involved being somewhat boorish.

As she mulled over her options, Booth began setting up. He set a box of pizza on either side of the table, got them both fresh beers and opened the puzzle box. He tore open the plastic bag that contained the pieces and was just about to pour them onto the table when Brennan intervened.

"What are you doing?"

"Uh … starting the puzzle?"

Brennan waved his hands away. "You should never just invert the pieces onto the surface you plan to be working upon. Brand new puzzles have cardboard particles from the manufacturing process." She grabbed a nearby napkin and shook a few pieces out, then pointed at the fine brown dust that accompanied them. "They make the work surface unsanitary."

He grabbed the box back from her and dumped the puzzle over. "This isn't a lab, Bones." Booth settled into a chair. "Puzzle dust isn't going to cause a biohazard alert."

Brennan looked decidedly annoyed, but she took a seat in front of him anyway and dragged an armful of pieces over to her side, pointedly shaking off the dust and glaring at Booth as she did so. He ignored her and grabbed his own handful, beginning to sort the pieces. As he did so, he could feel her watching him intensely.

"What?" he finally asked.

"You're not sorting the pieces."

"Sure I am. I'm picking out the edges." He held up a piece of the upper border as proof. "See? C'mon, Bones. Everybody starts with the edges."

"A more efficient process would be to categorize the rest of the pieces as you go, so you don't have to repeat the process twice." Brennan sifted through several of her own pieces, neatly moving them into several distinct piles.

"Puzzles aren't about being efficient, Bones." He went back to his own sorting. "They're about having fun."

"Your method—or lack thereof—will require considerably more time."

"What's the rush?" Booth shrugged.

"My system allows me to proceed at a much faster pace, so I can complete more puzzles, thus increasing my fun."

"Okay, Bobby Fischer." He rolled his eyes. "How about you just do your thing and I do mine, huh?"

Atypically, they managed to work without bickering for a few minutes before Booth looked up to check on her progress and noticed the bizarre assortment of piles she was systematically creating.

"Bones, your piles are messed up. You've got blue in with the orange and red."

"I'm not sorting by color," she replied. "It's inefficient, given the great variety of shades in any given puzzle."

"What else is there to sort by?" Booth watched as she added multiple white pieces to a mound of green and tan. "Hey!" he exclaimed, noticing several of his edge pieces hiding in her piles. "Those are mine!" He reached out to steal them back, when Brennan's hand clamped down over top of his.

"They have rounded tabs and two blanks," she insisted. "They belong in the appropriate geometric category."

"They have an edge," Booth shot back. "They belong in the appropriate edge category."

They vied for control of the pieces, neither willing to give an inch, until Brennan's elbow slipped on the table and sent several of her piles skidding into each other.

"Now see what you did?" she complained, letting go as she attended to the disarray.

Booth grabbed his pieces and pulled them over to his side. He wrapped a protective arm around the border he was building . Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brennan reach for her cellphone. She fiddled with the buttons on it, making it beep repeatedly.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Setting a timer to see whose method works best—yours or mine. Generally, I can complete a 1000 piece puzzle in 48 hours or less if I have unlimited time at my disposal."

"You really need to look up the definition for _fun _again," Booth muttered. "Who works on a puzzle for 48 hours straight?"

She placed the phone between them. "It will be interesting to see how long it takes the two of us working together. Logically, the time should be halved, but I would hypothesize that, due to your lack of an orderly method, we will take considerably longer than the norm."

"There_ is_ no 'norm'! Puzzle solving isn't a scientific experiment, Bones. There aren't specific procedures and timeframes you have to follow."

"You said 'everybody starts with the edges.'That would imply that there is a distinct method that specific groups adhere to."

"But … Bones, those are _edges_. How can you make a puzzle without a clear edge?"

"A clear frame for a picture means nothing if the picture itself can't be reconstructed."

"Listen," Booth fumed. "I've solved plenty of puzzles in my time. My way works just fine, okay?"

"So does mine."

"We'll see about that." He bent over his pieces. "If my way turns out to be faster, you owe me dinner."

"And if I win, as I undoubtedly will, you can accompany me to the next scientific lecture I attend."

"Deal!" He extended his hand.

She shook it firmly, eyes gleaming with the thrill of a challenge. "Deal."

"Just—we don't have 48 hours to work on this," he pointed out in hindsight. "We've got work tomorrow. Do you just want to add up the time it takes us over the course of several evenings?"

"That is acceptable." Brennan nodded.

Booth reached for a cold slice of pizza with one hand, while he continued to sort pieces with the other. "Told you this would be fun."

She smiled. "These last months … it's been fun becoming us again, Booth."

He raised his beer in agreement and grinned. Slowly but surely, they were rebuilding the relationship they'd both taken a sledgehammer to. "To us."

Brennan leaned over and clinked her bottle with his. "To us."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Would you mind if I put on some music?" Brennan asked.

Booth leaned forward and tapped a piece of the lighthouse into place. In spite of his inefficient methodology, he'd completed a large section on his side. "Go for it."

She retrieved her iPod from the living room and set up the docking station on the table. "Angela prepared a song mix for me that she explained was ideal for a girl's night in."

Booth grimaced. "I'm not a girl, so that doesn't apply to me. How about something else?"

"Some of the songs are quite catchy." Brennan selected Angela's playlist in spite of his objections. "I've been looking forward to hearing one in particular whose title I recognize from the radio."

"What's that?" He snuck a piece from one of her piles and earned a slap on the hand in return. "I need that piece of the tower," he complained.

"It won't fit. The size of the blanks is wrong."

He tried the piece anyway and reluctantly nudged it back in her direction when her assessment proved correct.

Brennan located the song and pressed play. "It's by the artist Sheryl Crow, I believe. _All I Wanna Do."_

She settled back into her chair and began rotating a piece of improbably aquamarine ocean when the song began. The instrumental beginning didn't match her memory of what the song sounded like.

Booth looked over from his lighthouse, a look of alarm spreading across his face. "That isn't Sheryl Crow." He grabbed for the iPod. "No way are we listening to this."

Brennan batted him away. "My apartment, my music selection."

"Bones," Booth groaned, "This is Heart."

She scooted the iPod out of his reach. "I don't know what that means."

"1970s girl band … power ballad queens?"

She shrugged. "I don't know them. The lyrics seem promising."

"Random girl picks up random guy off the side of a rainy street corner." Booth scowled. "How is that anything but stupidly unsafe?"

"Popular culture enshrines men who make multiple conquests of complete stranger. A song where a woman is the one who makes the selection is intriguing to me in its reversal of gender stereotypes."

"It's not about reversing gender stereotypes." Booth took an unnecessarily vicious bite of the Thai they'd ordered in after five hours of puzzling had made them both hungry again. "It's about deceit. Okay, Bones? Deceit. This girl sleeps with this guy just to get pregnant, because her otherwise perfect husband is firing blanks. Then she pulls a vanishing act and passes his kid off as another man's."

She pushed rewind. "Now I have to listen to the song again, in order to verify the accuracy of your comments."

He jumped up and reached for the docking station again, sending several pieces flying to the floor. Brennan grabbed the iPod and jumped up. Booth followed her menacingly, making various swipes towards the music device that Brennan avoided with nimble footwork.

"It's only a song," she teased.

"C'mon, Bones. Give it up," he ordered, lunging toward her again.

"No," she retorted, feinting left, then diving right.

Booth's eyes began to twinkle. "You're dead, squint."

Feeling more alive than she had in a long time, Brennan ducked again. "Are you threatening me?"

"Oh, yeah," he growled, making an unexpected dive at her midsection.

She fended him off with one hand, while trying to keep the iPod away with the other.

"Give it to me."

"No."

"I'm gonna take it anyway, Bones." He grinned dangerously. "Just give up already and maybe I won't be too hard on you when I win."

Brennan laughed and waved the iPod mockingly as she pushed rewind again. "Come and get it."

She fought only as hard as necessary to keep their game going, and wasn't disappointed when he finally snagged her arm. She dug her heels into the carpet as he began to pull her towards him, chuckling victoriously.

"Now you're in trouble, lady."

Brennan snickered, still managing to keep the iPod away even as he dragged her nearer. "Are you going to read me my Miranda Rights?"

The expression on Booth's face changed abruptly. "Whoa. Bones."

Suspecting some kind of ploy, she rewound the tune yet again. "Nice try."

"No." He released her arm and stepped back, eyes wide. "Bones—you're bleeding."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Sorry for the cliffhanger. School is keeping me busy and I haven't quite finished the piece yet. All questions will be answered in the last section, to be posted next Thursday.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Part 3**

**Sorry, folks. I had shoulder surgery late last week and haven't finished the chapter, what with the hospital and the pain meds. Here's the little bit I did manage to get done. It's not my intention to string you along with repeated cliffhangers—this is just all I can manage right now. Again, I promise this will not be an endless fic. I have a clear ending in mind and, as soon as I'm back on my feet again, I'll write it. **

**Thanks so much to everybody who reviewed the last chapter. Reading the reviews made me feel a lot better after being sliced and diced and subjected to physical therapy.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan glanced down. Her happy evening evaporated in the space of time it took her to notice the red stain suddenly adorning her left breast. She covered herself with one hand and pushed back from the table.

Booth jumped up from his own chair. "Bones—"

She hurried towards the bathroom, avoiding him as he reached out to grab her shoulder. Stepping inside, she shut the door firmly behind her and pulled off her shirt, wincing at the sting as her stitches shifted with the abrupt motion. That had to have been what caused the bleeding—the wrestling for the iPod.

"Bones?"

She stared at herself in the mirror. The previously white bandage was now lightly spotted red. It wasn't a great deal of blood—if she'd been wearing an actual bra instead of just the thin shelf built into the tank top, it would have prevented the stain from leaking through.

"Bones, say something."

She remembered the doctor's instructions. _Bleeding is rare. If it does occur, __lie down__, remove the bandage, put three fingers on the wound and apply pressure for 10 minutes._

"I'm coming in on three if you don't say something."

Brennan reached back and locked the door. "I'm fine, Booth."

He rattled the doorknob angrily.

"Please go away." She applied pressure to the wound and carefully lowered herself to the floor. The bathroom was large and there was ample room for her to lie down with her head cushioned on a clean towel.

"Don't lock me out, Bones." The doorknob rattled again. "What the hell is going on?"

"I can't do this right now." Brennan closed her eyes, feeling the cold of the floor seep into her bare skin. "Go home, Booth. I promise, I'm in no danger."

"Bones! I swear, if you don't open this door, I'm going to kick it in."

"Then you will hit me with it, which will not help the situation. Please stop talking. I need to count to 600."

"I'm freaking out over here, Temperance. Open the damn door."

"I'm freaking out in here too!" she shouted, feeling her self-control start to slip. "You're not helping me by panicking." Fear, which she had managed to hold at bay for days, seeped under her skin. "Go away. I need to be alone, so I can count."

There was a long silence, so long that she thought he might have actually left. Confused by the sudden swell of grief—she had told him to go, after all—she let the tears finally fall, grateful for the slight warmth as they slid down her cold skin.

"I'll count with you. What number are you on?"

"I don't know!" The tears flowed faster as she realized he was still in her apartment. She wasn't alone. Not completely. "You keep interrupting."

"Start at 600 again. Ready? Go. 600. 599."

"If you're going to insist on staying, just set the timer on your cellphone for 10 minutes." She brushed away tears impatiently, even though the gesture was entirely futile. Everything she'd been holding back was finally beginning to escape, in the form of saline catharsis. "Hurry up."

"It's set. Now can I come in?"

"I can't move for 10 minutes, so I can't unlock the door yet."

"I can shoot the lock off."

"Don't. You would be required to fill out paperwork for discharging your weapon, which you hate. And I would have to purchase a new lock." Reflexively, she draped her shirt over her bare chest. "I don't want you to see me like this."

"See you like what?" He sounded very near, as though he was leaning his head against the door. "At least tell me what's wrong."

She was too tired to keep holding him at bay. "The last part of my imperviousness was physically stripped from me this morning."

There was another long pause. "The elevator."

"Yes." She wasn't certain why she had chosen that particular metaphor.

"I remember. But I don't know what that means in this context."

Brennan exhaled wearily. "How much time is left?"

"8 minutes, 37 seconds. Bones. Just tell me. What happened this morning?"

"I feel naked. Unprotected. I dislike the feeling intensely."

"I'll protect you, Bones. That's my job as your partner. But I need to know who the enemy is in order to take him out."

Brennan almost smiled at the thought of Booth taking on her immune system with a sniper's rifle. "You can't protect me from this. I won't have the results for at least 24 hours. And it may be nothing."

"The results of what? Bones, _why the hell are you bleeding?"_

"Are you still angry? At Hannah, I mean. Women. Me."

A heavy thud sounded against the door, which she suspected was either his fist, or his head, dropping heavily against the wood.

"No, I'm not angry, Bones. I haven't been angry for a long time. Actually, I think maybe I was angrier at myself than you or Hannah."

A knot she hadn't been aware existed in her throat unwound itself, letting loose another flood of tears. "I'm vulnerable and you're not angry anymore. Do you think that means maybe—" she swallowed a particularly hysterical sob—"Maybe we can be together now?" As quickly as she formed the words, she regretted them. "I realize, of course, that your feelings may have—"

"If my feelings had changed, I wouldn't be standing out here with my finger on my sidearm's safety. I'm seriously about to blow the lock off this door if you don't quit stalling. I want to be with you, Bones. I've always wanted to be with you. I was just too much of a coward to admit it after you pushed me away."

She cried harder at the memory, and at the thought that she might get another chance. "How much time?"

"6 minutes, 4 seconds. Bones …"

It was a relief to finally tell somebody. "I had a biopsy done last week on an enlarged lymph node in my axilla and a large lump in my left breast. The first biopsy came back uncertain, so they did a second one this morning."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Some of you inquired what the song in the last chapter was. It was Heart's **_**All I Wanna Do (Is Make Love to You)**_**. Also, in case you're wondering where the idea for this fic came from, my friend Rose was diagnosed with breast cancer a couple weeks back, and she requested a story with this plotline. My intention is to carry this story through to the diagnosis and then let readers' imaginations take it from there. Sorry again for the delay, and thanks for your patience with me.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: My recovering shoulder is a work in progress, as is this story. I'm fairly certain the next Thursday installment will be the last, but make no promises. It depends on my physical therapy schedule and how much I'm physically able to type between now and then. Thanks much for your patience, as well as for all your reviews and well-wishes.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The mix of pizza, Thai and beer that had previously been sitting very comfortably in Booth's gut suddenly rose up in rebellion.

"God, Bones." He tried the doorknob yet again. "Bones. Bones-" he trailed off, fumbling for words when his throat had effectively clamped shut. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, struggling for control of his fear. She didn't need to hear that in his voice right now.

"How much time?"

Feeling numb, Booth glanced at the cellphone still clutched in his hand. "Three minutes. Bones, why didn't you tell me?"

"I dislike pity." She sounded exhausted.

"It's not pity," Booth snapped in frustration, slapping his hand against the door. "It's concern, okay? Was Angela with you when you had the biopsies, at least?"

"She doesn't know."

His stomach took another dip. "What?"

"She and Hodgins are very preoccupied with their son. I didn't want to disturb their new family unit."

His mind filled with images of Brennan being sliced and diced without having anybody's hand to hold during the procedure, or even a person to at least provide moral support from behind a curtain. "What about Russ?"

"His daughter is in the hospital again."

"Max?"

"He's out of the country."

"Damn it, Bones," he groaned. "You should've said something. I would've been there—you should not have gone through that alone."

"Sometimes … it can be difficult for me to ask for help."

"I get that. But this is different, Bones. This is something that people who love you need to know about."

"I'm unaccustomed to being loved." Typically Brennan, she made the sad statement bluntly, as though it was just a basic fact of her life. "I realize that Angela holds me in high esteem and that you've expressed feelings of desire for me, but translating that into a relationship whereby I open myself enough to seek comfort from others—"

"It's a hell of a lot more than desire," Booth interrupted, realizing for the first time that he'd never actually said the words out loud to her. Not even on the steps, where his feelings would have been obvious to anybody—anybody who wasn't Brennan. "Bones, I love you. Okay? I'm in love with you. I have been—I am—from the looks of things, I always will be. Moving on is not an option, unless you come with me." It was probably the lousiest declaration of love he'd ever made, not to mention the fact that it was said through a door so he couldn't even gauge her reaction, but he didn't regret it.

"Will you get me an icepack? It will help minimize the bruising."

Booth sighed. Not exactly the response he'd hoped for, but now definitely wasn't the time to be demanding.

"Sure."

He reluctantly headed for the kitchen, where her fridge was as organized as her office at the Jeffersonian. Several icepacks were neatly stowed in the side of the door, beside a frozen daiquiri mix that looked vaguely appealing if only in the sense that it contained better-tasting alcohol than Brennan's usual stash of foreign beer. Man, he could definitely go for some hardcore booze right now.

Booth glanced curiously at a steel bowl on the counter, filled with the remains of the mug Parker had shattered. There was a glue bottle next to it, as though she was actually going to try and piece together the smithereens.

A towel was folded in a precise square on top of the counter and he used that to wrap the icepack before turning back toward the bathroom and discovering Brennan standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

She had changed into a loose gray Tee that hid any blood or bandages, and the only clues that something was wrong were her reddened eyes and the way her arms wrapped around her chest protectively.

Hard as it was to show restraint, he held out an arm, giving her the choice to come to him or stay where she was. "C'mere, Bones."

For a long moment, she just looked at him. Then she took a step toward him. Another. And a third and fourth, until she was close enough to wrapped her arms around his neck. Booth tossed the icepack aside and locked his own arms around her. He buried his face in the hollow of her neck, muttering a silent prayer of gratitude that she had finally chosen to open the door for him.

He could feel her trembling and fought down the urge to hold her much tighter. Afraid of causing more bleeding, Booth restricted himself to squeezing her waist and stroking her hair. ""Easy, Bones. I got you. I got you. Shhh."

Her own grip tightened considerably. "I'm afraid, Booth."

He didn't say anything, using the moment of silence to tamp down the visceral fear threatening to give him away as being similarly terrified.

"My knowledge of my family medical history is relatively limited." Her voice took on a clinical tone, like it did when she was trying to burrow deep into her head and reason away the pain of an inescapable reality. "However, given what I do know, it would seem that my statistical odds of contracting breast cancer are small. My fear is premature and potentially irrational."

"Maybe yours is, but mine isn't! Bones, you can't put a number on fear, or rationalize it away anymore than I could make up my mind to just stop loving you. Things don't work that way."

"How do you know?"

"Because emotions aren't like precise chemical equations, Bones. They're messy and—"

"No," she cut in, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. Her own were red and puffy, but inquisitive as ever. "I mean, how do you know you love me?"

"Because—" Booth flailed, searching for the right words when nothing in the dictionary came close to explaining his feelings, "because the thought of not having you in my life—not seeing you every day, or having you around to bounce theories off of or being able to argue with you about the right way to sort puzzle pieces—it kills me, Bones." In spite of his best efforts, his voice cracked with the intensity of his emotions.

"You're referring to my potential demise."

He blanched. "Whoa. Hey—I didn't—No!"

"You mean that if I die, you will miss me," she continued calmly, as though she was discussing an interesting discovery on a case,

"Well—yeah—" Booth sputtered, "But—that's not what I was talking about, Bones! I just meant that I need you. I want you. All the time. The thought of not having you around, for any reason, leaves me cold."

Brennan's brow furrowed. "If I do have breast cancer, my chances of survival will depend both on what stage the tumors are and the quality of medical care that I—"

"_You're not going to die!"_ His voice snapped like a twig again, mocking his show of confidence. "You're gonna be fine, Bones."

She squinted. "What is your evidence?"

"My gut's my evidence." His gut was currently tied up in large knots that seemed to have been yanked tight and soaked overnight in water, but she didn't need to know that. "Trust the gut, Bones. It's always right." _It has to be right. You have to be all right._

"What if it's wrong?" she insisted.

"Then we cross that bridge when we get there." Booth slid one hand into her hair and nudged her face towards his. "Together."

Brennan followed his lead and leaned in closer. "And if I require chemotherapy?"

He hated having this conversation. Hated it with a capital H.A.T.E.D. But if she needed reassurance—"I'll hold the puke bucket. Donate a kidney. Shave my head. Anything you need, Bones."

"It's highly unlikely that I will require any of your vital organs," she said so seriously that Booth would have laughed if he hadn't been on the verge of crying. "And I don't want you to shave your head. I find your hair very attractive."

Feeling his eyes stinging dangerously, Booth took the coward's route. He closed them and pressed his lips to Brennan's. The kiss was only intended to stop the conversation long enough for him to pull himself together, but as soon as their mouths met, that plan went out the window.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Post-narrative A/N: An unsatisfying end to this too-short chapter, I know. Bear with me and my recovering shoulder, please. =).**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Watch for another update this evening. I'm going to try and finish the story out tonight, but at least this installment will keep you going until then. (It also gives you something to read in case I oversleep and/or don't get it finished today like I'm hoping. These pain meds are making me very sleepy. Thanks for all your very kind comments and your patience.)**

Over the years, the partners had taken turns delaying the inevitable. First there was Booth, with his concern about FBI regulations. Then when his mind changed, Brennan climbed into a taxi, choosing not to turn this particular relationship into a drunken one-night stand. Booth's own reticence for one night stands; Brennan's insistence that she wanted nothing more; all those little moments when **it **should have happened, **could **have happened, **should **have happened, **would **have happened if only they both hadn't been so damn stubborn—it was like a twisted tango, complete with discordant music and really, really bad timing that would have had Cupid and Aphrodite gnashing their teeth.

In similarly clueless fashion, the dismantling of that mutually bricked wall between them began on the steps of the Hoover Building. Raining emotional bricks sent them running for cover and plaster dust then clouded their vision long enough to send them to opposite corners of the world and into the arms of others before the partners finally began to match each other's dance steps. All in all, it was fitting that a shattered mug and disagreement over music were the final blow to everything that stood between Booth and Brennan.

The initial kiss tonight was clumsy—just his mouth mashed against hers in an obvious bid to stop her from continuing to say things he didn't want to hear. When she didn't pull back immediately, Brennan could feel Booth's automatic hesitation. His lips barely moved as he tested the waters for metaphorical shark fins. Unwilling to miss this moment, Brennan finally gave herself permission. She grabbed both sides of his head and dove in. His lips were soft as they had always been and deft as ever, as soon as they recovered from surprise. They parted under hers, allowing her access to the hot recesses of his mouth.

Her sharp mind went fuzzy as his tongue touched hers, doing that little thing that only Booth did, which she couldn't come close to describing but that sent all her senses into a tailspin. _Oh, God, he tasted sweet._ Like hops and pizza sauce and mi krob, stolen off her plate. Like Seeley Booth, more than anything, just as she remembered him from each of their previous kisses.

Then he was in her own mouth, as she was in his—him, gliding over the ridges of Brennan's teeth, her, exploring the inside of his cheeks. She discovered for the first time the tiny raised scars took a muffled guess after exploring them carefully.

"Torture?"

Booth muttered something abrupt in reply, definitely not wanting to stop the kiss to have a conversation.

She was sure of her hypothesis, and the image of her partner biting into his cheeks to keep from screaming sent a shock of irrational despair through her veins. She could have lost him then, before they had ever met.

He placed his own hands over hers, holding her face so he could kiss her harder yet, warning her not to even think of stopping things yet. Brennan's tongue thrust assertively against his in retaliation as she thought about how she might have missed the chance to ever know his wide grin and goofy sense of humor, potent mix that it was of alpha male mixed with little boy mischief.

Booth dragged his teeth across her lower lip and Brennan retaliated, realizing she might never have seen the ridiculous socks, which, thankfully, he was now wearing again.

She hooked her fingers in his cocky belt, dragging their hips into a deadlock to where she could physically feel the arousal she was now tasting. She ground against him and he pushed back, dropping his hands to cup the curve of her backside. As she was momentarily distracted, their teeth clashed painfully.

Booth's kiss stopped for just a second, his eyes opening to make sure that she was okay.

She didn't want to think about never knowing his kindness, his inviolable code of honor and irrationally steadfast belief in them.

"Bones?"

She dragged him back in, willing him to forget the minor cut on her lip and the uncertain diagnosis now tormenting both of them. This time he was more careful when their mouths met. His hands moved back to safer terrain at the sides of her waist and his exploration of her mouth turned gentle. Caressing.

Brennan didn't want that tonight. She needed the aggressive side of her partner this evening; the side that would kill to save her.

Anger built in her at his continued care, until she finally yanked back, furious at the tears filling her eyes all over again. She hated the concern on his face.

"Don't treat me like I'm going to break."

"Whoa. Hey." Booth frowned.

She slapped the hard wall of his chest and simultaneously tried to pull away. To her surprise, he didn't let go. Instead, he backed her against the kitchen counter and held onto her shoulders tightly.

"There's nothing fragile about you, Temperance." Booth's eyes darkened until they looked almost angry. "I don't know at what point something's finally gonna make you break, but cancer—or waiting to find out about cancer—isn't it."

"But I'm afraid!" Brennan cried, giving voice to her weakness for the second time that evening and hating the flood of renewed tears rolling down her face.

"Who wouldn't be, faced with what's been hanging over your head for the last two weeks?" He leaned in and glared into her face. "Bones, I was afraid every time they walked me into that torture chamber. Does that make me weak?"

He knew she knew, but they had never discussed his experiences being tortured.

"Does that make me weak?" he demanded again. "The fact that I was afraid of maybe having my eyes put out or my fingers cut off? Or worse yet, just vanishing, so nobody would ever know where to visit my grave?"

"You had a rational reason for being afraid."

"Newsflash: So do you," Booth snapped, releasing her shoulders and bracing a hand on either side of the counter. "Tell me what you need, Temperance. I'll give you anything you want, except walking away. I'm not going anywhere anytime ever again. So stop pushing!"

"I want to live."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He was a hypocrite. That much, Booth knew. Here he was telling her it was okay to be afraid when he was also shaking in his stripy socks and had no intention of letting her know. She was scared, so Booth couldn't be. End of story. An idea presented itself that he acted on without over-thinking.

"Go grab a change of clothes."

"Why?"

He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying hard to behave. "You wanna live—let's do some living. Just get whatever you need for a couple of days."

_Behave _wasn't in Brennan's prodigious vocabulary. She dragged her nails across his chest, starting at the top of his neck and working down toward where her hand still had a dangerous grip on his belt. "We have work tomorrow," she murmured into his neck, where she leaned in to sample his skin. Her teeth matched the play of her nails, sending his libido into the upper stratosphere.

"We're playing hooky." He was unable to resist leaning in for a quick, hands-free kiss. That was easier said than done—once his lips were in close range, Brennan didn't exactly like the idea of letting him get away again.

She played with the clasp of his belt and kissed him heatedly, turning up the thermostat with every swipe of her tongue over his. "I don't know what that means."

He gasped as her hand dropped way lower than his belt. "It means—" He grabbed her hand and wrapped his fingers around it tightly, raising it from the danger zone to a safer spot on his chest. "This isn't happening in your kitchen."

Brennan raised an eyebrow. "Given how traditional you are about such things, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at your preference for having sex in an established venue."

Booth scowled. That definitely sounded like an insult. "Would you just go get some clothes already?" he demanded, stepping back and raking his hands through his hair. "And don't go making assumptions about my sex life, huh, Bones?"

"You are correct. My assumption was based on faulty evidence—I had forgotten about your dalliance under the fig tree, which would actually imply that you are somewhat of an exhibitionist."

Booth's jaw tightened until it hurt. "That was low, Bones. Way low. Why would you even go there?"

Brennan lifted the melting icepack from the counter and turned to place it back in the freezer. "I suppose I'm somewhat jealous of never having experienced anything similar with you. I'm … sorry."

Only the knowledge that she was hurt kept him from yanking her back out of the freezer and against him. He waited until she closed the freezer again, then reached out and carefully turned her shoulders toward him.

"Don't ever compare yourself to Hannah again. When it happens between us, Bones—and it's gonna happen, if you'll just go get your damn clothes already—it'll be better—way, way better—than the fig tree."

"How do you know it will be better than the fig tree?" she insisted, typically tactless. "What is the scale you are measuring your sexual experiences by?"

"The fig tree wasn't that great," Booth admitted sheepishly. "The ground was rocky and there were ants—a lot of ants, actually—_way_ too many ants all over piles of rotting figs. Wow." He shook his head at the memory. "That, and … the connection between Hannah and me—it was missing."

"Ah." Bones nodded sagely, as though things now made sense to her. "You had only known Hannah a short amount of time. It wouldn't have been long enough to forge the emotional connection that you consider so vital to sex."

"The connection was never there," Booth corrected. "Not under the fig tree or anywhere else. I don't know, maybe I never gave it a chance to be there, but it wasn't."

Brennan seemed to accept this. She thought for a moment before commenting, "We have a connection." Her words were edged with a question mark.

"Since the first five minutes." Booth wrapped one arm low around her waist and pulled her into him. "The connection's always been there between us, Bones, from day 1. Hannah was a mistake. This … isn't."

He waited for her to ask why, but she didn't. A small smile touched her lips and he held back a sigh of relief.

"So where are you taking me to have sex?"

"I'm not taking you there to have sex." He rolled his eyes. "I mean, I am, but I'm not—that's not the reason—" he ended with a sputter that was typical to their conversations. "Geez, Bones. You're making me out to be a pervert or something!"

She pursed her lips, indifferent to his aggravation. "Why do we have to miss work for it? Where is it?"

"Just let me surprise you, Bones. Okay?"

"Just one day?" she asked suspiciously.

"Just one," he promised, grinning playfully. "Unless you decide you want to stay longer."

"I won't," she said firmly, pulling away and starting down the hallway. "I've already missed enough work already."

"I'll take that bet," he called after her. "You'll never want to leave after you see this place."

"You're a degenerate gambler. You shouldn't be betting!" she yelled from the bedroom. "Will you get my iPod? I want to listen to music wherever we're going."

"Only if you promise we won't listen to Heart," Booth countered, going into the living room and scanning the scene for the small musical device they'd been tussling over earlier. He refused to think about how their tussle had ended.

"I like their music," Brennan complained.

"Bones, if you want to listen to power ballads," he located the iPod and picked it up, testing it for power. "Try Journey. Chicago. Boston. Kansas. They had some monsters in their day."

Brennan emerged from the bedroom in a fresh set of clothes with a small travel bag in hand. "Why would I want to take a trip to any of those states to listen to music, when it's readily available on my Shuffle?"

Booth winced. "C'mon, Bones. You've never heard of Chicago? _If you leave me now …"_

She looked at him blankly.

"No? Seriously? _I'm gonna take you by surprise, and make you realize, Amanda_? No? You have to know _Don't stop believin'_ …"

"The last lyrics seem more familiar."

"They'll be a lot more familiar by the time we get where we're going," Booth muttered, heading for the door. "Chop chop, Bones. Three hour drive, not much traffic at this time of night … if we hurry, we can make it there by sunrise."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Sorry if the writing isn't great or there are a lot of typos. I hate being all doped up. I'm hearing that people are having trouble reviewing this chapter, maybe because they commented already on "Not an Update." If so, feel free to PM. =)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I give up on predicting when this story will end. It should be soon, but having to type one-handed a lot of the time, plus being busy with end-of-year school business, is keeping me from being as productive in terms of writing as I'd like to be. Thanks for sticking with me in spite of the delays, and for continuing to leave such kind, supportive reviews.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan woke up slowly, eyes blinking in the shallow light as she tried to place her surroundings.

"Morning."

She turned toward the unexpected voice and found Booth fully reclined in the driver's seat, arms tucked comfortably behind his head.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Relax, Bones." He yawned and stretched comfortably before sitting up. "You went down about 30 minutes outside of DC."

She looked around at the violet-hued landscape. They were in a parking lot surrounded by undulating sand dunes covered in tufts of scraggly grass. "We missed the sunrise. Why didn't you wake me?"

Booth shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. "You probably haven't slept much the last couple weeks. We'll catch the sunrise another day."

The windows were partially rolled down, allowing a crisp breeze to drift in. Booth had draped his coat over Brennan as she slept, and she pulled it tighter around her shoulders.

"Where are we?"

He unlocked the doors and pushed his open, letting in a rush of cool salt air. "Connemara Beach. Maryland."

Brennan's groggy senses finally picked up on the roar of surf nearby.

"Wanna give me a hand here?" Booth called from the back of the SUV, his voice muffled.

She unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped outside, rolling her shoulders to work out the kinks. Booth stuck his head out of the trunk sideways and scowled.

"Shoulda known better than to buy cheap ass gear from a gas station."

She maneuvered so she could see under the seat, where he was once again glaring, but all she could make out was a tangle of what looked like twine. Booth yanked on an invisible end somewhere on his side, making the entire mess slide sideways but having no other discernible impact.

"Stop," Brennan ordered, elbowing him aside. "What are these strings attached to?"

"It's supposed to be a surprise," he whined.

She began to examine the snarls. "Can we just cut them?"

"No! That'd ruin everything."

"It would help if I at least knew what I'm working towards." She located the terminus of one string and began to feel her way forward from it again, pausing to carefully unravel various snags that had caught on the nuts and bolts which held Booth's backseat into place.

"They're kites." Booth rocked the entire SUV as he sank down a few inches away from Brennan's workspace.

Brennan waited for the movement to subside and then continued, operating more by feel than by sight. "Kites?"

"Yeah." He sounded deflated. "I didn't figure the spools would come unwound so easily."

"Why kites?" Once accustomed to the task at hand, her fingers worked quickly and accurately, moving from one knot to the next as systematically as she catalogued bones.

"Parker had this thing when he was a kid. He was obsessed with kites—thought that if he ran fast enough, they'd pick him up and carry him as high as an airplane so he could wave at the people inside."

The scientist grinned at the image, however absurd. "He is a very imaginative child."

"Yeah … There was this one day when Rebecca and I really ripped each other to shreds and we didn't realize Parker was awake and listening. I guess he was about 3 then. It was my weekend and when I went to check on him, he grabbed onto me and wouldn't even say anything. He just kept crying and crying." Booth butted his head against the back seat. "I couldn't get him to calm down, so I finally just got in the car and drove with him on my lap. We kinda wound up here by default. I got the kites out of the back and he just took off running." His tone became soft, as it often did when he was talking about Parker and he laughed ruefully. "He told me he was going to catch the sun this time for sure, and ride it all the way onto a plane. I don't know. It was a good day. I thought maybe … y'know … you might need one of those." Booth shrugged his shoulders a little, obviously embarrassed. "Pretty stupid, huh."

"It's not stupid." Feeling the last knot slip free, Brennan slid backwards, towing the untangled string with her slowly so it wouldn't catch again. "It's a very unique idea, Booth, even if I fail to see how flying a kite will erase my fear of a positive diagnosis." Two turquoise paper diamonds emerged from the recesses of the SUV, a little dusty, but none the worse for the wear.

"It won't erase anything," Booth acknowledged, picking up one of the kites and standing up. "But maybe it'll help you forget for just a little bit?"

"It's unlikely, but I do appreciate the sentiment." She got to feet, examining her own kite critically. "I haven't done this since I was seven. Are you certain these are built aerodynamically? It would seem the weight of the paper is too—"

"They'll fly." Booth slammed the trunk shut and locked the rest of the doors with a loud beep. "Don't turn this into a science experiment, Bones. Just have fun with it."

"Science is fun for me," she protested, following him toward the gap in the dunes.

Brennan paused to enjoy the view as they crested the small rise. The sun was still low in the sky, barely visible above a cluster of pinkish gray clouds on the horizon. Small white waves drifted into shore in a pleasingly symmetrical foam-green configuration. Sand pipers scuttled across the sand each time a wave retreated, searching for small sea creatures that might have been uncovered in its wake. It was comical to watch them scuttle backwards frantically every time another wave started ashore, just barely outracing the waters before turning around and starting the same dangerous activity all over again. Irritable seagulls dipped and soared close by, clamoring loudly for their first snack of the day and obviously hoping that she and Booth were planning on providing hors d'oeuvres, at the very least.

"Any day now, Bones …"

She turned her attention back to her impatient partner. Wind ruffled his hair and she had to smile at the enthusiastic glint in his eyes.

"This is far from routine for me, Booth. I'm not very spontaneous."

"That's why you have me." He reached over and nudged her shoulder lightly. "Just don't expect beach love making, Bones. Sand gets in all the wrong places."

Brennan grinned at his atypically suggestive comment. "It sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"Spring Break memories. Tiny beach towel …girl thrashing underneath me, kicking sand every which way … and that was far from the dumbest thing I did."

"What if the girl is on top instead?" she inquired mischievously, enjoying this new side of him.

"Never tried," Booth replied pointedly. "Once was plenty, so don't get any ideas, Bones." He lofted his kite lightly into the air, then caught it again. "The breeze is great! These babies should intercept any passing airplane. Just kind of toss it high enough that the wind catches it, then start running."

"A more practical approach would be to allow the wind to lift the kite and unspool the thread to a certain length, before beginning any kind of forward motion."

"It's not about being practical." Booth tossed his kite into the air a second time. "Tell you what, Dr. Efficiency. First person to reach the mile marker wins." The wind quickly caught the diamond and began to pull it upwards, even as Booth started running.

"Wait!" Brennan called after him. "Wins what?"

"Everything!" he yelled back, already several yards away.

She didn't enjoy losing any kind of competition, even if the prize was unconfirmed.

Brennan belatedly turned her back to the wind and threw the kite upwards. For a moment, the turquoise diamond lifted upwards, then came crashing down onto the beach again as the breeze unceremoniously changed directions and dropped it. She tried again, with similar results. In the distance, Booth's mocking laughter drifted back towards her.

"Come on, Genius! Where's your magic mojo now?"

"There's no such thing as magic!" she yelled back. "And even if there was, I fail to see how that would have anything to do with the basic aerodynamics required to master kite flight!"

"Looks like I've got a better grasp of those 'basics' than you do," he teased, deliberately making his kite dip low and then guiding it back upwards just before it hit the gound.

After a third failure, Brennan adjusted her position so that she was standing as Booth had been. It was aerodynamical impractical, but the wind seemed to take her partner's side as it caught the kite and actually held it upright for a minute. She took a few steps and began to build up speed when the tension on her string suddenly lessened. Turning, she saw the kite dive back toward the beach.

"Booth!" she yelled in frustration as she caught the kite just before it hit the ground. "Something is wrong with my kite."

Arrogant grin plastered across his handsome face, he nevertheless turned around and jogged back towards her, towing his successfully launched kite behind him.

Stepping behind her, he readjusted her grip on the spool, positioning her fingers so they were on either side, rather than directly on top of it. "Don't hold onto the line so tightly. It's not a surgical clamp. A little pressure's all you need to control the direction and speed of the string. See?"

Irritated at her lack of success at such a simple endeavor, Brennan still found herself grinning as Booth helped her get the device aloft, and ran alongside her for several feet while she got the hang of guiding the string. He let go and she laughed, feeling a childish, happy exuberance as her kite finally began to vie with his for altitude.

"All right! Let's go catch some planes."

"There aren't any planes," she pointed out unnecessarily. "And even if there were, our kites would not attain the necessary height to intercept an airliner."

Booth took off at a fast jog ignoring her scientifically pertinent comments and Brennan stood watching him, enjoying the play of his large muscles under his shirt and the wind ruffling his thick hair. They'd frequently raced in the parks near the Jeffersonian, so she knew she was more than a match for his speed. The kite was simply an additional variable to factor in.

Mentally debating the statistical probability of changing Booth's mind about beach sex, she quickly pulled even with him.

"Slow down," he warned, giving her a sideways glance. "Your kite will get tangled with mine."

She ignored him and ran faster, laughing for no reason other than that the activity was childish and unproductive and so altogether innocent that it made her remember happy childhood days before science replaced her parents as a constant in the world. That, plus, Booth was racing alongside her laughing too, and his wide grin was always infectious.

"Nice try, but no cigar, Bones." Booth put on a burst of speed.

She dodged a horseshoe crab in her way. "Anybody who smokes would have difficulty kite flying due to the damage to lung tissue."

Unexpectedly, Booth veered sideways and went running straight for the ocean, the tail of his kite streaming behind him.

"What are you doing?" Brennan stared as he plowed straight into the small waves, all the way up to his ankles.

"C'mon, Bones!" He waved with his free hand. "Water's fine."

"I'm wearing jeans …"

"So am I." Booth jogged out a little farther, until the green froth lapped at his knees. "Tell you what, Bones. You catch me, and I might reconsider … you know …"

She needed no further convincing. The water was surprisingly strong as she waded out into it, looking back every now and then to check and see that her kite was still aloft.

Booth moved further back, so his thighs were now soaking wet, the wet denim clinging to them appealingly. "That's no way to win a bet, Bones. Take it from an expert—you're gonna have to go deep …"

An unfamiliar imp rose inside Brennan. She took a deep breath and dove forward, still clutching her kite with one hand as with the other she parted the waves in a clumsy dive. Taken off guard, Booth squawked and went backwards as she went for his knees. Brennan used both her forward momentum and the rush of an outgoing wave to propel her further still, until she was literally on top of Booth, who now thrashed spluttering beneath her, somehow still managing to cling to his kite.

She giggled and wrapped her legs around him. Her chest stung with the salt water. It was possible that her stitches had ripped again, but the situation was so out of the norm for her that she couldn't help it. Just for a moment, she felt beyond the specter that had haunted her for two weeks.

"You did this on purpose," Booth accused, somehow managing to leverage himself upright while clinging both to her and his kite. "You knew I was going to win."

Brennan plastered herself against his damp t-shirt. A chuckle escaped her, and she didn't try to contain the ones that followed in its wake. "If you are averse to beach sex, perhaps an ocean tryst would be more to your liking?"

Booth snorted and dropped backwards into the water, simultaneously releasing his kite. Brennan barely had time to take a deep breath before he hit the glassy surface with the full force of his back, sending up a giant wave. She rolled over onto her back still laughing, and looked up at the pale gray sky.

"Look at it go," Booth said beside her, his large body rising and falling languidly with the motion of the waves.

His kite had risen with remarkable speed and was now alarming a curious flock of seagulls who had come to investigate this aerial intruder.

Brennan released her own kite and watched it rise alongside Booth's, further unsettling the birds.

"Booth?"

He kicked his legs just enough to stay in place. "Huh."

"If I die, are you going to bring flowers to my grave?"

She knew from his long silence that she had ruined the moment, and made an attempt to ameliorate the situation.

"I'm not saying I'm going to die. I mean, we're all going to die, of course, but there's no evidence to suggest yet that my death will be premature or the result of breast cancer. I just wouldn't want you to waste your time or money on a societally prescribed ritual that would ultimately be meaningless, given my nonexistence—"

"First of all, you would never be non-existent." Booth dropped his legs so that he was now treading water directly in her line of sight. "You existed, Bones. Your presence is known to the whole world because of your books, your studies, the faces you've helped restore to people—you'll live on, even in death. You will always be existent to me, because I knew you. I _know _you." His brows knit together and he waved his hands agitatedly, churning up water around them. "I'd take you flowers. I'd have whole conversations with you, and they wouldn't be meaningless. Now can we agree not to talk about you dying until we at least know whether or not you're even sick?"

Brennan dropped her own legs so she was vertical and reached out to smooth a wet lock of hair from his face. The salt water glittering in her eyes wasn't entirely a product of the ocean. "I prefer kites. If you insist on carrying out such a concrete, ritualistic memorial, I would prefer it to at least symbolic of a moment we spent together happily."

Booth's face twisted and he blinked hard. "Okay. Kites. And if I go first, it's pie."

"Pie?"

"Diner's best, on a paper plate. Don't forget the fork and napkin."

The whole conversation was absurd, but she smiled. "Deal."

He reached beneath the waves and grabbed her waist, lifting her onto his hips once again. Brennan leaned in and returned his kiss almost before he started it. It was salty and sweet, and some of the kite's innocence still lingered in between them when they finally made their way out of the ocean. They walked back to the SUV in a comfortable silence, fingers tightly interlaced, shoes squelching in a carefree, soggy rhythm.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Next chapter: Hotel hijinks of sorts.**

**PS: I don't have the energy to do my usual meticulous research, so the destination in this chapter was fictional, though it is loosely based on Assateague.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Didn't get to the hotel hijinks yet. Sorry. Watch for them in the next chapter, (that's a promise), along with another carefree activity in a similarly playful vein to kite flying. Thanks so much for all the kind feedback and PMs. They mean a lot to me.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth perched on the edge of the driver's seat and tipped his tennis shoes over, dislodging a couple tablespoons of fine sand. On her side, Brennan pulled her socks off. Intended for sweat-wicking, the fabric had instead done its duty by absorbing at least a cupful of Atlantic waters, some of which she now sent flooding across the parking lot with a brisk tap against each sole. She wiggled her bare toes and worked free several small pebbles, oblivious to Booth's appreciative stare.

Sun reflecting off the ocean, even in the early morning, had given her the beginnings of a tan which made her blue eyes even more vivid. Her waterlogged clothes left little to Booth's imagination, which already had plenty of practice in picturing Brennan undressed. She reached back to wring her long hair out and the comfortable, practiced motion somehow made him want her even more.

He cleared his throat and tried to sound normal. "Towel's in the back, if you want."

She hopped out, barefoot, and disappeared towards the trunk. Booth noticed a piece of lined paper that had fallen onto the car mat on Brennan's side, beside her purse and just shy of a puddle. Reaching over, he shook the paper free of sand and unfolded it. Four carefully drawn vertical columns greeted his eyes, written in Brennan's familiar handwriting.

**Travel**. **Career. Relationships. Misc.**

Baffled, Booth skimmed just the beginnings of each extensive column. Some items were marked off.

**Travel**

_Pyongyang_

_Dragon's Blood Tree_

_Western Mali/The Dogon_

_Antarctica_

**Career**

_Thesis on PaleoIndian migration_

_Grant to study newly unearthed Machu Picchu graves_

_New Amazon Urbanism expedition_

_Assist Angela in finalizing the patent for the Angelator_

_Catalog 3000+ remains from 'limbo'_

**Relationships.**

_Have a child._

_Take a trip with Max._

_Be a better friend._

_Sleep with Booth._

He didn't make it to the misc. column. His eyes fixated on **Relationships**, going over and over the third item. Booth's current contented state of mind swirled down an unexpected drain as he realized what he was reading.

A towel landed in his lap. He looked up, shaken, and found Brennan climbing back into her seat.

"You should dry off before we get to the hotel. We are unlikely to get reservations in our present bedraggled state," she said practically.

"We already have reservations." Booth stared down at the paper and back at Brennan, praying there was some other kind of explanation, but knowing full well there wouldn't be. "What is this?" He held the list out to her.

She took it and skimmed it, as he had done. "Where did you get this?" she asked finally, looking back up at him with a frown.

He gestured at the floor. "It probably fell out of your bag. I thought it might be a receipt or something that I dropped." Booth stared at her. "Bones, tell me that's not what I think it is."

"I have no way of knowing what you think it is." She refolded the paper and slid it back into her purse. "It's a Bucket List."

He rocked back in his seat angrily. "Bones, how the hell do you even know what that is?"

"Angela and I watched the movie several years ago." Brennan buckled her seatbelt. "In spite of my previous comment, I believe I can make an educated guess as to what you are presently thinking. You are incorrect."

"Why don't you tell me what I'm thinking then?" Booth slapped the steering wheel with the flat of his hand, feeling strangely betrayed. "Tell me how making a list of everything you want to do before you die, just before you find out whether or not you have breast cancer, isn't what it seems."

"I made the list at the time I watched the movie. Angela suggested we do it as a kind of bonding activity." She looked out her window. "In the years since, I've added to it, but the list was not created for the express purpose you are suggesting."

At the risk of violating her personal space, he reached over and grabbed her shoulder. "Bones."

Slowly, Brennan turned back to him, her eyes shuttered. In spite of her proximity, she suddenly looked so far away that it scared him.

He resisted the urge to back down, as he had done so many times in the face of her intense need for privacy. "Why'd you bring it on our trip?"

"I thought perhaps we might … I might …" Unusually, she stumbled over her words. "I thought I might be able to cross something off."

"You mean sleeping with me," Booth said flatly, crossing his arms across his chest.

"You suggested we would have intercourse." She looked bewildered. "Why are you angry at me?"

"Because …" now it was his turn to struggle for words. "I want this weekend to be something more than just an item on your death list. You said you wanted to live, and that just contradicts everything." He knew that would sound nonsensical to her, and ended with a frustrated, "Y'know?" even though she definitely wouldn't. Before she could say anything, he went on, "I just—I don't want you quitting before you even start fighting. That's not who you are, Bones. The squint who defied the FBI and a serial killer to pull me off a ship marked for the bottom of the ocean is not someone who lives her life by some kind of morbid checklist."

"I like lists. I find crossing off each item satisfactory."

"That might be true for groceries or scientific mumbo jumbo, but not for life." Seeing the blank look still in place, he tried again. "Bones, I got nothing against you having dreams. I've got my own mental list of things I want to do before the final curtain drops. It's just—with the whole diagnosis thing—" He shook his head, trying to clear it of the hornets buzzing within. "You don't even know yet. Can't you just wait till you at least find out before breaking out the list?"

Something that might have been comprehension finally flickered across Brennan's face. "You don't want to believe that I may have to fulfill some of these dreams sooner rather than later, if I expect to accomplish them before succumbing to disease."

The fact that she actually _got it _for a change didn't make him feel any better. "I don't want to think about you dying at all."

"We're all going to die, Booth," she said, but her voice was soft, rather than squintish. "However, my diagnosis may very well turn out to have no effect on my lifespan whatsoever. If the list disturbs you so much, I won't refer it to today, even if we do have sex." A hint of a smile hovered at the corners of her lips. "Is that still in your plans for our impromptu getaway?"

It was a lousy attempt at subtly redirecting the conversation, but he caved in and went with it anyway. He started the engine and tried for a casual comment of his own.

"The surf and turf look works on you, Bones."

"Seafood and steak?" she asked quizzically, finger-combing her hair and creating tiny salt ringlets around her face in the process.

"Beach babe," Booth clarified, although comparing her to one of his favorite meals wasn't altogether inappropriate. He had a sudden desire to have her for breakfast, instead of the steak and eggs he'd previously been imagining.

"Ah." Brennan nodded sagely. "You mean that you find my currently bedraggled state arousing."

"You think?" he muttered under his breath before reaching over to plant a kiss on her unsuspecting lips. Before she could respond—and before he could flat out lose it and drag her into the backseat on top of him—Booth retreated and started the car engine. His body thrummed with frustrated need.

She turned sideways to look at him as Booth backed out of his parking spot. "I enjoy kissing you."

He chuckled at her usual blunt honesty. "You're pretty good yourself."

"You have excellent oral dexterity," she continued. "Many of my previous sexual partners lacked your facility with—"

"I'll add that to my resume," he interrupted with a nervous chuckle. His self-control was perilously frayed, and comments like that wouldn't get them far down the road.

"I'm looking forward to experiencing your mouth in places besides—"

"WHOA!" Booth's mind turned a dark, hungry shade of red. "I'm driving here, Bones." He made the mistake of looking over at her as he spoke and discovered the same hunger mirrored in her eyes.

"Drive faster, then."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: This installment's super short and much fluffier than the next chapter will be—school is just crazy busy as we race towards graduation, and this is all I could squeeze in this week. It's hard to believe I actually started writing Problem Solving right around this time last year. When did I find the time? More hijinks and innocent fun to come, along with the diagnosis. Stay with me, please. =) Thanks to everybody who read and reviewed the previous chapter.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Fortunately, the speed limit was one law Booth never had qualms about breaking. Brennan didn't try to hide her smirk as he floored the accelerator and held it down for 5 miles or so, before peeling onto an offshoot of the main road so unexpectedly that the wheels scrambled for traction on the gravel surface.

"I would prefer to arrive at our hotel with my bones in their present state," she commented mildly as he picked up speed again.

Booth didn't reply, but Brennan was fairly certain she saw his hands tighten on the steering wheel. He was typically such a prude when it came to all things related to sex that she couldn't help but enjoy his reaction to their imminent consummation. Even though her desire was a definite match for his, she couldn't resist a little more needling.

"Sexual intercourse will prove much easier if we're not both in body casts as a result of injuries from an overturned SUV."

He didn't take his eyes off the road, but the threat was clear in his tone. "Keep talkin', Bones. Payback's on its way for all those times you sent me home sleepless."

His blunt revelation only egged Brennan on as he veered left without slowing through a dirt path hidden in a small grove of trees.

"You are implying that you intend to use delayed sexual gratification as punishment for the frequent physical discomfort you suffered while working with a beautiful partner whom you considered off limits sexually."

The SUV hurtled forward, closing in on several small bungalow-style buildings separated by a fair amount of space, but clearly laid out in a U-shape around a trio of fountains and raised flower beds.

"First off, I'm not the only one who suffered 'physical discomfort," Booth retorted pointedly. "You're hot, I'm hot; we're the hot partners." This statement was punctuated with an aggravated hand wave. "It generates a lot of steam being in the middle of that kind of a heat wave. Y'know? And second—" This time Booth did take his eyes off the road, just for a moment. The look on his face corroborated his statement about physical heat being generated between them. "Second, if you actually think I'm going for even more delayed sexual gratification, then you need to turn in your genius credentials to Mensa."

"I'm not a member of Mensa."

He pulled to a stop in front of a turquoise-sided building on one of the long sides of the U.

"I'll give you the tour later," Booth promised, unbuckling his seatbelt and pushing open the door. "Right now, I'm interested in a guided tour of my own." He got out and missed Brennan grinning like what Angela would have called a Cheshire cat. She'd barely gotten her own belt undone when he appeared outside her window.

"Fell into his arms" might have been a hyperbolic description, but only slightly. Booth pulled open the door and Brennan acted on years of delayed impulses. She scooted to the edge of her seat, grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked his head down to hers. Her forward momentum was sufficient that she would have fallen sideways out of the car if Booth's arms hadn't already been around her, maneuvering into a vertical position on the pavement.

Their wet bodies plastered together, they kissed frantically, the dam finally breached completely and everything pent up between them spilling over dangerously. Always before, Brennan had been afraid of being dragged under by emotional riptides. This time, there was no fear of drowning. Just as she had done earlier in the ocean, she dove straight under the wave.

Booth's arms pressed her tightly against his chest, anchoring her to his solid strength. Through the damp fabric of his t-shirt, she could feel the firm outline of his pectoral muscles. As many times as she'd seen him shirtless, she'd never before been allowed to touch him freely. She reached between them and braced a hand on the hard wall of his chest, trailing downwards over his ribcage. The hard ridges of his abdomen contracted under her hand as she went lower still, reaching for his belt buckle.

"Ga-ahhhh, _Bones_ …" His own hand slid underneath her shirt, his long fingers splaying warmly across her stomach.

Brennan's body tensed with anticipation as he teased her with his fingertips, stroking her skin in concentric circles. Her need for him grew with each circle, like the gradually widening ripples on a pond when a stone has been dropped into it.

His buckle finally came undone and Brennan was reaching for the belt itself when Booth broke the kiss and dropped his forehead to hers, breathing heavily.

"Wait."

"No." Unwilling to return to the surface, Brennan reached for him again. He dodged her attempt to kiss him again and held up the plastic room key, then reached behind to insert it in the electronic reader. Brennan twisted in his arms to see the light blink red. He scowled then swiped it again, with identical results.

"Crap."

As he fumbled with the lock, Brennan did her level best to distract him. His shirt was now free of his pants and she pulled it upwards, then leaned down and began to kiss her way across the smooth musculature of his abdomen. This time when his abs flexed, she felt the contraction with her lips and teeth.

"Bones. Bones. Bones-wahh, ahhhh, _whoa, God. _Jesus!"He jerked backwards as she popped the button of his jeans and reached inside his boxers. "Bones, _the key."_

She sighed and straightened, shoving the hair back from her face. "What?"

Booth dragged his hand down his face before replying. "It doesn't work."

"Let me try." She grabbed the key away from him and turned toward the door. "You're probably swiping it too fast for the electronic eye to read the signature. You can be very impatient."

He stepped up close behind her and began he to kiss his way down the side of her neck, his warm breath teasing her skin like his fingers had a moment ago. "Why would I be impatient?" he murmured in her ear, very slowly dragging his teeth down her earlobe, then pressed a kiss into the sensitive skin directly behind it, Brennan couldn't hold back a gasp of pleasure.

"Like that, huh," he mocked, deliberately moving away from the erogenous zone.

Struggling to focus on getting the door to open, Brennan reached back and clamped a hand around his waist, dragging him back into her. She was never shy about asking for what she wanted.

"Do that again."

"What?" Booth teased, kissing his way along her jawline. "You mean this?" He nibbled his way along the outer shell of her ear, pausing occasionally to drop down and sweep his lips across the nape of her neck. All the while, his hands played up and down her sides, occasionally venturing a little further inland to caress her stomach or the underside of a breast, then retreating just shy of the target so that she moaned in frustration even as the lock refused to cooperate.

Brennan was on the verge of deciding that car sex would be every bit as good as hotel room sex—and was debating what coercive technique she could employ to persuade Booth of this-when the door swung inwards. The intertwined partners staggered forward, almost landing on top of each other in the middle of the carpet.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Partial hotel hijinks, I know. More to come—just remember, I don't do "M" stuff. The middle school teacher in me just feels funny getting quite that graphic. That said, I have a lot of fun with a redhot T-rating … =)**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Further T-hijinks are on their way, but I had a really lousy day today and just wasn't up to finishing the chapter as intended. 14 more days till I'm free … thanks to people who reviewed last chapter, and to L, my wonderful beta.**

**Next week's chapter may be delayed by a few days because I want to post a certain one-shot before the season finale.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Momentarily clinging to each other more for balance than passion, Booth and Brennan did an impromptu pirouette. Brennan planted one tennis shoe firmly, trying to gain traction, and Booth yelped as she crunched down on his foot with her full weight. He jerked backwards in an attempt to relieve his abused toes and this set them even further off-balance. Booth flailed outwards with one arm, seeking some kind of surface to hold him upright, but found nothing but air. Abruptly, his calves slammed into a hard surface—presumably the foot of the bed—and he went down like a felled tree. The comforter rushed up to meet him, mercifully soft in its assault. Brennan's body, however supple, wasn't nearly as forgiving.

"_Oooph!" _Booth grunted as she landed on top of him, her elbow impaling the soft area beneath is rib cage, her knee barely missing a very sensitive spot when it plowed into his lower thigh. "Geez, Bones!"

Sprawled halfway across his chest, her head almost mashed into his armpit, Brennan giggled.

"You think this is funny?" he demanded.

Her response was another muffled snicker.

"I'll show you funny." Booth took advantage of her position between his thighs, locked his legs around her waist and flipped them. His gut caught up a millisecond too late, warning him that she couldn't sustain the full impact of his much heavier torso just now. His arms caught the brunt of his weight, but not enough.

Brennan's laughter morphed into a cry as Booth's chest flattened hers. He rolled off of her instantly, scrambling to his feet so fast that he almost tripped all over again.

"Bones, I'm sorry."

She lay where he'd left her, eyes squeezed tightly shut, her face drained of all color.

"God, Bones. Bones, I'm so sorry."

Brennan inhaled raggedly and her hands fisted around the comforter, dragging it upwards in a vain attempt to control the pain.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked helplessly. "Do you have pain meds?"

She rolled onto her side, her knees tucked up into her stomach, face turned away from him.

At a loss for what to do, but needing to do something, anything, to fix this, he reached out hesitantly, drawing his hand back right before it grazed her arm.

"I'm sorry," he repeated dumbly. "I'm so sorry, Bones. What can I do?"

Brennan's chest heaved convulsively and she let out a broken sob. The last time he'd heard that sound, she'd been sitting in the passenger seat of his SUV, finally letting him in … the memory of how he'd treated her then ricocheted through Booth's body like a bullet. And now she was crying again, because of him. He jerked backwards, his own hands clenching in self-loathing. Getting to his feet unsteadily, he reached for the room phone. "I'll call an ambulance."

"No."

Booth stopped with the receiver to his ear, feeling like he was doing mental carpet pirouettes that were leaving him dizzy and confused.

She seemed to curl into a tighter ball. "I ruined it."

Booth put the phone down and moved towards her again. "What?"

Her shoulders shook with the force of her crying. "Our moment."

"What are you talking about?" She rarely cried but whenever she did, Booth's automatic instinct was to put a physical wall around her to try and block out the source of the pain. He wanted to hold her now, so much so that his arms reached out automatically. He stopped himself sternly, terrified of injuring her.

Brennan sat up abruptly, her blue eyes wide with grief. "We missed our moment again."

A tidal wave of equal parts relief and guilt swamped Booth. "Hey. Hey, hey. We didn't miss anything, Bones. We just need to be a little more careful when we're breaking the laws of physics."

She didn't smile at his joke. Instead, she swung her legs off the bed and sat there rigidly, her tears slowing but not fully stopping. "I shouldn't have gone to Maluku."

That came out of left field. Again, he scrambled for footing. "Huh?"

Brennan stared down at her lap. "It changed … everything between us. If I hadn't left, you might not have gone to Afghanistan. You would never have met Hannah; she wouldn't have broken your heart—"

"And I wouldn't have broken yours," Booth interrupted, finally cluing in. She had also drawn a parallel to that awful evening in the SUV, maybe because it was one of the few times she'd openly broken down in front of him. "Everything did change, Bones. We were both to blame for that. I don't know, though. Maybe … maybe it needed to, you know?"

She swiped at her face. "I don't know."

Booth shifted so he was sitting beside her, their shoulders just barely touching. "Maybe we just kind of took everything for granted," he said slowly. "It didn't seem like anything was going to change between us. We were kind of stuck."

"I hurt you," she said quietly. "By not being satisfied with our work and seeking fulfillment elsewhere, I implied that our partnership was somehow lacking."

"I didn't exactly fight to get you to stay," he reminded her.

"That confused me," she admitted. "If you had argued against my decision, it's unlikely I would have reconsidered. Nevertheless, I had expected more resistance."

He still regretted not putting up more of a fight that day on the park bench. For a long time before Maluku, Booth had felt her slipping away. By the time she told him her plans, she'd almost seemed like she was already halfway across the ocean.

"I should've said more. I guess I was trying to do the whole 'let them go and they'll come back to you,' but …"

"We both came back in very different places," she finished for him.

"Kinda. Yeah. But where we are now, talking again and stuff … we're moving closer together again." Closer than they'd been before, maybe. "Right?"

Brennan finally looked up, a hint of humor in her eyes. "Yes. Though I would still like to be … closer."

Concern clamped down hard on his libido. "Don't get me wrong, Bones. I want to get closer. _Way _closer." So much closer that his whole body was singing just thinking about it. "Just, maybe we should wait until you're healed. I gotta admit, I can't vouch for my self-control once we're, you know, 'closing.'"

The amusement faded from her gaze and she just looked tired. And sad. "Even though I have no control over the situation, I regret that my present condition has imposed limits on the physical part of our reconnecting. I'm irrationally angry at myself for having interrupted our earlier foreplay."

His need to make her feel better overwhelmed his good sense. Booth kissed her softly, his lips brushing back and forth over hers with careful restraint. Brennan moved closer, her body angling slightly toward his, one hand braced on her shoulder, the other splayed low on his chest. Their earlier fervor was more common of their day-to-day relationship, with each fighting for the upper hand and enjoying the other's resistance. This was more reminiscent of the diner's slow intimacy.

Booth stroked her hip, smoothing his palm down her thigh all the way to her knee and back up again. She sighed a little and pressed her hand to his stubbled cheek. He turned his face into her palm and kissed the heel of her hand, lingering at the tiny indentations of her wristbone. The way his head was turned, she had easy access to his throat and went straight for it, like some sexy squint vampiress. Her mouth closed over the spot right above his Adam's apple and sucked gently at it before trailing along the underside of his jaw. He groaned at the feel of her teasing, open-mouthed exploration, then turned the tables and retaliated with a hot kiss to the sensitive spot behind her ear that made her gasp.

"So salty," he murmured, tasting hints of brine. "And sweet."

He reached for the hem of her shirt, wanting to feel her bare skin pressed against his own bare abs, which she had exposed with her deft fingers. Brennan stiffened as Booth tugged at the fabric and he immediately let go, afraid that he'd somehow hurt her again.

"You okay?"

Her answer was random, even for Brennan's usual brand of honesty. She shoved the hair back from her face and looked away. "I'm very beautiful."

"Uh … I kinda noticed that a while back, Bones." The start and stop was going to kill him. He was sure of it.

She picked at an invisible seam on the comforter. "I'm aware of my social awkwardness."

"You've gotten better."

"Perhaps. But my striking physical appearance allows me some leeway when it comes to interpersonal interactions."

Booth tried to get his head around that one, with little success. "You lost me," he confessed. "What are we talking about this time?"

Brennan rubbed her arms, and he realized belatedly that she must be getting cold in those wet clothes. Of course, he'd been hoping to have her out of those clothes a while ago … the faraway expression on her face dragged him back to what she was saying.

"My beauty seems to get people to give me a chance, where otherwise I would have none, societally speaking. If I come across as standoffish in a coffee shop, for example, and a man wants to initiate a conversation, he is likely to overlook my lack of social graces because of what I look like. Even Angela was initially put off by my abrasiveness, but she was intrigued enough by my looks to approach me. After we had conversed at length, she realized that what she had construed as rudeness was unintentional on my part." She paused before continuing. "I've occasionally wondered whether you would have elected to meet me after my presentation at American University, had I not been attractive."

"Okay, so you were a knockout," Booth allowed. "But, c'mon, Bones, give me a little more credit than that. Give yourself some credit. I didn't just stick around because you were a 15 on a scale of 10. You were ballsy, all right? And smart. The way you handled all those questions … I stayed because I was intrigued. Maybe if you were wearing a mop on your head or sackcloth, I might have been a little less interested. But only a little. You're selling yourself way short. Your personality grabbed me just as much as your killer legs."

"I have excellent muscular definition," she said seriously.

He snuck a glance at her wet denim encased limbs and fantasized about peeling the fabric away and exploring all that long, smooth 'definition' with his hands and lips, before pulling those legs tightly around his waist … first, though, they had to finish this conversation, wherever the hell it was headed.

Brennan glanced sideways at him then away again, almost smiling. His jeans were every bit as wet as hers, and there was no way she could miss how much he wanted her. Booth couldn't even bring himself to be embarrassed. They'd been so close, damn it!

"I enjoy being attractive in your eyes." Brennan picked up a throw pillow and held it to her chest. "It's a superficial concern, when considering the potential life and death ramifications of breast cancer, but I am afraid of no longer having that particular asset."

He frowned. "Bones, what are you talking about?"

"One of my foster mothers developed breast cancer. She and her husband had been kind to me, and there was some talk about them becoming my adoptive parents. Then she became ill." Brennan placed the pillow flat on her lap and traced its abstract pattern with her fingertips. "The disease must have been very advanced when they diagnosed it. When I was removed from the family's care, she was close to death."

"That's not gonna be you," Booth said flatly, grabbing the pillow away so she would look at him instead. "You do monthly exams and stuff—so if you do have it, you caught it early."

"Monthly exams are not a guarantee of an early diagnosis. And even if the disease is not advanced, chemotherapy is an extremely aggressive medical treatment. I …" Brennan paused, as though embarrassed. "I don't want to look like she did. She appeared to age twenty years in 8 weeks. "

"Bones." Booth struggled for patience, when his very fear was making him want to get up and whale away at a punching bag or something. "You're not going to be that woman."

"Her name was Annie."

He took her hand and squeezed it. "You're not going to be Annie."

"Even less aggressive forms of cancer can have devastating repercussions on the human body, down to the very skeletal structure." She trailed her thumb over his knuckles. "I don't want to be ugly. I realize that is not a societally acceptable statement, but I can't deny that's part of my fear."

Booth had to smile then, in spite of the conversation's heavy bent. How he loved his beautiful, vain, genius scientist, even when she so often completely missed the emotional forest for the scientific trees.

"Bones, did you think Annie was ugly when she got sick?"

"No." Brennan looked surprised. "She sustained a great deal of physical changes, but I continued to find her beautiful even at the end, when her skin was peeling and she had no hair left."

"That's because she was more than just a body to you. You cared about her, Bones. She was going to make you part of her family. You're acting like there's not a side to you other than the scientist who appreciates physical perfection, even when I know there is. I mean—the bones of murdered people, you turn them into full-scale human beings in your head. Do you think they're ugly because they've been mutilated?" He answered for her. "No. That's why you get so mad at plastic surgeons who destroy ordinary women's self-image. You see beauty in each human's individuality, whether that's from the scars of a disease or a person's tattoo choice."

"I don't deny the inherent hypocrisy in my feelings." Brennan dropped his hand and scooted away. "Nevertheless, I do not want to be just a … just a gleek."

"A geek, Bones. You don't want to be just a geek. You couldn't look like one even if you tried." His mind flashed back to those librarian glasses, and he had to grin. "Okay. Maybe every now and then. But you're the hottest nerd in D.C."

The scientist was self-confident almost to the point of arrogance, a lot like Booth, but, also like Booth, she had any number of secret fears.

"People look at me now and see an awkward, beautiful woman. If I am no longer attractive, all strangers will notice is my awkwardness. I find the thought surprisingly disturbing."

He reached for something to help her understand how crazy she was talking.

"It doesn't matter what you wind up looking like. People who love you are always going to see you as beautiful. Strangers on the street—who cares what they think? I'm the lucky guy who knows the Bones underneath."

Brennan smiled a little. "That's funny. Because I work with bones, which are underneath the epidermis, and I am also Bones."

"With secrets underneath," he amended. "I like that I see stuff other people don't in you, Bones. It makes me feel like I've got an in."

"You do," Brennan said simply.

They smiled at each other, still awkward and tense, but progressing toward a common point.

"I'm unaccustomed to being self-conscious, but my impending diagnosis seems to have temporarily altered my confidence … Would you mind if I kept my shirt on when we are having sex?"

It wasn't how he'd imagined their first time, but he was far from complaining.

"Whatever it takes. Just … are you sure we should be doing this before you're healed? I mean it, Bones. Once you're underneath me, I'm gonna lose it."

"Then you should be the one underneath."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**While I never agreed with Hart packing her off to Maluku, their conversation here is my attempt to at least rationalize the decision somewhat.**

**Re: tonight's ep … it was one of the few episodes I've enjoyed this season, in spite of the tears running down my face at various points in the ep. The characters finally seemed true to themselves again, which I hadn't seen in a long time, particularly Angela. And there was humanity and compassion in the storyline, something I had sorely missed all season. And that's all I'll say, so as to remain spoiler free.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Voila! T-rated hijinks. My beta suggests that it actually may have slipped into M. If so, it would be a very mild M, but just a warning to anyone who might be offended.**

**So much for the one shot I hoped to write this week. No time, no energy. Thanks to all the people who have taken time to review and to give me encouragement as I slog through these last few days of school. And thanks to EternalDestiny304 who betas and encourages and whose friendship has been such a blessing this long, long year. She just posted her first story in a long time, "Just a Kiss," and it's highly worth a read.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"_Whatever it takes. Just … are you sure we should be doing this before you're healed? I mean it, Bones. Once you're underneath me, I'm gonna lose it." _

"_Then you should be the one underneath."_

Booth's brain short-circuited momentarily and when the smoke cleared, they were somehow standing in front of each other, twin nervous expressions on their faces for different reasons.

"Don't let me hurt you," he warned.

She ignored his command. "Take off your shirt."

"Anybody ever told you you're bossy?" Booth reached back and pulled the damp T-shirt over his head, drawing it deliberately slowly along his back and shoulders to give himself time to brace for the scientific assault Brennan's eyes were about to unleash on him. Consciously or not, she'd be measuring him up to all the guys she'd ever been with, along with every bone she'd ever identified.

He worked hard to get his muscular build, and not just for the sake of catching bad guys without getting winded. And yet—he suddenly found himself feeling like a teenage kid, hoping Brennan wouldn't find him lacking. She'd seen him shirtless, even naked, actually, but … he dropped the shirt to the floor and straightened.

As he'd expected, Brennan's gaze was on him before her hands ever made it to his skin. Booth struggled not to squirm when the intensity of her eyes felt almost like fingertips following along his collarbone, down his arms, over his ribcage all the way to his navel and lower yet before starting back up again, this time using her hands.

He swallowed a groan at the light touch she exerted on his abdomen, slowly dragging her nails along the hard ridges.

"Play nice, Bones."

"I am _very_ nice." She proved her point by pushing him backwards, so he landed on the bed in the same position he'd been in when they first got inside the room.

Booth laughed a little nervously as she knelt over top of him, her knees caging his thighs in. Brennan's answering smile was predatory. She kissed his right bicep. It wasn't a spot he'd ever thought of as arousing, but whatever she was doing with her mouth—some kind of combination of half-parted lips, tongue and teeth and shallow little nibbles—made him change his mind permanently. She repeated the kiss on his triceps and deltoids, clearly enjoying each sharp inhalation from him.

Her hair blocked his view of her face as she repeated the torture on each of his pectorals, the soft brush of the long strands across his skin making him crazy until he couldn't take it anymore.

"Bones."

She intently tracked the muscles on either side of his neck, muscles which were significantly more corded than they had been a few minutes earlier as they bunched up in a futile attempt to keep Booth from shuddering.

"Come on, Bones." He was aware he sounded like he was pleading nervously, mostly because he was. Usually he didn't get this turned on until much later in the game.

Brennan did that thing with her hands on his stomach, making him flex automatically. "I've fantasized about this significantly."

"About …" he groaned as she settled more comfortably onto his hips.

"Tasting you." She started on his ribcage in similar fashion, like he was just going to let that one go without retaliating.

"Bones," he growled warningly.

Her mocking laughter, vibrating through his whole body like he'd become an acoustic instrument or something, snapped the frayed threads of his self-control. Ordinarily he would have grabbed her under the arms and dragged her upwards, but her physical state meant he had to do things a little differently. He scooted upright instead, forcing her head to lift when her playing field moved places.

Booth grinned at the annoyed look on her face. "My turn."

"I was just begin—"

He cut her off with a hard kiss, coupled with a deliberate rotation of his hips that knocked her off balance. When she wobbled in her precarious position over top of him, he carefully caught her by the waist and lowered her to the mattress beside him. Before she had a chance to recover, he slanted his body over hers, never letting his weight rest on her chest, and kissed her lightly before sliding off the bed. Brennan looked up at him, her face flushed, her damp hair fanned out across the bed.

"See, Bones." Booth shucked his jeans rapidly and stepped out of them. "I have my own fantasies." He unsnapped the button of her own jeans. It took a minute to pull off her shoes and socks and peel the wet denim off, but the build-up was worth it.

"What are your fantasies?"

Booth couldn't move for a minute, or even consider answering. Nothing he'd ever come up with on long, lonely evenings came close to the vision of his partner lying practically half-naked in front of him, knees bent invitingly.

"Bones." He finally located his tongue. "You're—I—wow."

Brennan's teasing reply was much more coherent. "Your vocabulary is now even more limited."

He managed to drag his eyes up to her face, lingering at various places along the way including the scrap of black lace riding low on her hips.

"Always."

Brennan raised an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

"You've always." He kissed the curve of her hip right where the line of her panties ended. He smoothed his hand along the outside of her leg, still half-thinking he was going to wake up and be forced to work with her all day while remembering this dream. "Always." He stroked her right leg from the top of her thigh all the way down to her calf, deciding along the way that all skin was not created equal. Nobody he'd ever been with had skin as soft as Brennan's.

When he lifted the hem of her T-shirt just enough so he could press a kiss to her stomach, Brennan grabbed his hair and dragged his head up so she could see her face. "Always what?"

"You've always been beautiful to me."

She released his hair, apparently satisfied by his answer, but he wasn't finished. "You've always been. You always will be beautiful to me, Temperance. That won't ever change." Booth tickled her just enough to lighten the mood and she squirmed and kicked at him. He caught her foot and planted a kiss on the inside of her ankle. "Even your knees are sexy. Who the hell has sexy knees?"

"You do not."

"Hey!" he protested, glancing uncertainly at his legs. "My knees are plenty sexy."

Brennan laughed and sat up, scooting all the way down the bed. She wrapped her legs around Booth and pulled herself in close to him, reaching up to urge him into a kiss. Booth resisted, pretending to be miffed.

"No way. You can't just insult my body and then put your hands all over it, Bones."

"So I shouldn't do this?" She sucked his lower lip into her mouth and trailed the lip of her tongue just below it.

Booth pulled away and tried to be stern. "No."

"Or this?" Brennan pressed an open-mouth kiss to the juncture of his elbow.

"No." He glared at her suspiciously. "I'm pretty sure that never felt so hot when someone else kissed me in the same place."

She shrugged. "Other women are not as familiar with the location of nerve endings." She was almost eye-level with his waist and used this to her advantage, running her fingers just along the inside of his waistband. "Are you sure you don't want me to do this?"

"Nope." Booth swore as tiny darts of pleasure shot through him. "That's not fair, Bones, using squint magic on me."

"Knowledge of human anatomy isn't magic." Brennan pressed a kiss about half an inch south of his navel and Booth almost jumped out of his skin.

"Nuhhh-uhhhh …"

"Should I stop?" she asked innocently, drawing circles on his skin with her fingertips. "While in the womb, the navel and the clitoris grow from the same tissue, making them neurologically linked. Given that the clitoris and the penis are homologous to one another, sexual stimulation of the region is erotic to both men and women. "

Belatedly, Booth started to realize the real advantages of being in love with someone whose whole life was devoted to studying the human body. The smug little smile on Brennan's face only further did him in.

"You're saying if I kiss you here …" He nudged her back and pressed his lips to a spot right above her belly button. She moaned approvingly. "You feel it … there?"

"Yes."

"So I should keep doing this."

Brennan's hands fisted into the waistband of his boxers, guiding the pressure of his hands and lips. "Yesssss …"

Booth stopped, knowing he was playing with fire by teasing her when they were both already on the brink. "But that's all nerve endings. So what you're feeling is kind of fake."

She looked so confused that he almost laughed.

"Bones, you remember that case with the people who turned themselves into sexual ponies?"

Brennan frowned. "Yes."

"You remember what we talked about afterwards, in the diner?"

"You said that those people and their role playing were crappy sex, at least compared to the real thing."

Booth slid his thumbs under the straps of black lace and tugged them downwards, smiling as understanding suddenly registered on her face.

"That's right. I'm a Coke guy, Bones." He preempted her question with an answer, "I'm all about the real thing."

Brennan's moans signaled her approval _really _loudly.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The only sound in the darkened room was shallow breathing as the partners slowly came down to earth again. Brennan pillowed her head on Booth's broad chest, enjoying the rapid rise and fall of his ribcage beneath her cheek almost as much as the large arm wrapped around her waist pressing her closely to his side. In addition to being euphoric from the repeated release of oxytocin, she felt strangely safe.

Typically over-protective, Booth broke the silence first. "You okay?"

She pondered his question for a moment. "I am … excellent."

He chuckled. "What you're saying is _I'm _excellent."

"You were the first one to beg," she reminded him, invoking a wager they'd made shortly after he demonstrated the difference between a kiss by proxy and the real thing. "You owe me breakfast."

"No way," Booth retorted. "You broke the rules. You're buying."

She raised her head in surprise. "We didn't establish any rules."

"Some rules are automatically part of the game, Bones. Like, no use of squint magic to get ahead."

"It would be impossible for me not to use what you term 'magic,' she protested, thumping his ribcage for emphasis. "I can't turn off my scientific knowledge anymore than you can suddenly pretend not to know how to shoot a gun."

Unusually, he conceded the argument quickly. "Guess I'm one hell of a lucky guy."

"I do not believe in luck," she replied, sliding back down beside him.

"Bones, the woman I'm sleeping with knows more about the human body than Dr. Frankenstein. Tell me I'm not lucky."

"I would agree that you are fortunate to have me as a sexual partner. However, in the literal sense, you haven't actually slept with me yet," she pointed out.

"You're right about that, at least." Booth smiled. "The neighbors would definitely say we've been very awake."

She grinned evilly. "We have most likely kept _them _from sleeping."

He rolled onto his side, the mischievous glint in his eyes almost as arousing as his naked body. "You wanna keep them awake for another few hours?"

Brennan wrapped herself around him, fleetingly considering how different it would be if she was also shirtless. "Human beings only require five hours of sleep to function at least minimally."

"See? There goes that squint magic again …" His eyes widened as she dug her fingers into a certain pressure point. "Oh, _baby, _I am so lucky …"

The awareness came to her as they made love a second time—she was equally lucky. For so many years Booth had patiently worked at wearing down her personal shields. Until their yearlong separation and the equally long time it took for them to reconcile, he had never made her feel as though she was less of a person for hiding behind such safety nets. In the same manner, he now acted like the shirt wasn't even in between them, accepting it as just another part of Brennan to be loved without question.

**A/N: I know this chapter was almost entirely from Booth's perspective, and I usually try to keep a more even balance. However, the muse has been screaming for him lately, and I'm too tired to do anything counterintuitive just now. Next week may be another chapter, or a one shot. Either way, you'll definitely have another update by June 2****nd****, at which point my brain will be more rested. =)**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: School's out and I'm beginning to pick myself up off the floor, albeit slowly. Thanks so much to Eternal Destiny 304 for her brilliant betas, as well as to those who reviewed Ch. 10 of this story and the first installment of **_**Collide**_**. Ch. 12 will be posted June 16****th****, as I promised I'd post the last part of **_**Collide **_**by the 9****th****. **

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth was never particularly comfortable with silence. While Brennan enjoyed times of quiet, he was prone to filling every moment with some kind of noise, such as the music he had blared all the way to the beach. Sweets had once commented about the FBI agent's inability to 'be alone with his thoughts,' and Brennan couldn't entirely dismiss the psychiatrist on that point. On stake outs, Booth would invariably chastise Brennan for making small talk, then turn around and demand that she make conversation while they waited for their suspect to appear. It was an interesting dichotomy, one which led to Brennan feeling definitively smug as her partner lay behind her breathing heavily, his lack of small talk an indication of how thoroughly she'd worn him out.

She scooted back further into his chest, deliberately wriggling her hips to draw a groan out of him. He dropped an arm across her hips, pressing her firmly into the mattress in a bid to halt her mischief. She snickered and subsided. His breath whispered across her ear as he finally spoke.

"How can you even move?"

"I'm apparently in better physical shape than you are," she taunted, reaching behind her to playfully pinch an inch on his firm, naked thighs.

"Hey!" Booth yelped and moved with surprising speed, sliding out from beneath her so that Brennan was now flat on her back staring up at him. Imposing physical figure that he was, Brennan fully enjoyed the dangerous glitter of her partner's eyes and the tensed muscles in his upper body as he loomed over her, attempting to appear menacing. "If a guy did that to you, you'd knock him on his ass, before breaking every bone in his body."

"You did do that to me. And I did knock you—" Brennan's retort ended as he brought his mouth down over hers.

In spite of her bluster, she didn't have enough energy left in her to do much more than just lie back and enjoy as her partner did all the work. He was as meticulous in his kiss as he was on the job, and being on the receiving end of that thoroughness made Brennan grateful all over again for how good he was at his work.

Adding to the pleasure was the small part of her shirt that had hiked up, pressing her bare abdomen into his. Once again, she thought of what his bare chest against hers would feel like, and that killed the moment completely. She pushed Booth away and got up, angry at herself for allowing her emotions to override her reason. As she stalked towards to the bathroom, merely as an excuse to do something other than lie beside him feeling sorry, Booth's quiet words arrested her flight.

"I don't mind."

Brennan stopped just before reaching the door, her anger uncoiling itself like a disturbed rattlesnake. She turned on her partner, angry at his endless patience and unfair emotional advantage. He understood more about what was going on in her head than she did, and that was not only impossible, it was unacceptable.

"You should," she snapped, wishing he would get off the bed where he was now sitting up patiently, and come at her. She knew how to handle physical aggression. "I am very beautiful, Booth. Having sex with me while I am partially clothed is—"

"Better than not having sex with you at all," he interrupted. "Look, Bones. It's not how I fantasized about things, but I'm okay with it. Are you hungry?"

His random question derailed her anger effectively. "What?"

"We haven't really eaten since dinner yesterday." He got up and reached for his clothing.

Accustomed as she was to his usual shyness, Brennan found it strongly arousing to see him casually pull on his jeans commando, not seeming to be disturbed by her gaze on him.

Booth zipped the jeans up and looked around the room for his shirt. "It's gotta be, what, around noon?"

She knew, intellectually, that he was refusing to engage her in an argument. While the awareness was irritating—she was in the mood for a fight—she couldn't fault him.

He located the shirt and dragged it over his head, further disheveling his hair. "There's a Waffle House a couple blocks away. I bet you've never been to one."

She walked across the room until she stopped in front of him. "I haven't." Brennan reached up and dragged his head down to hers, none-too-gently. To her surprise, he didn't let her lead the kiss. She'd expected more patience. Instead, his arms locked around her waist and he bent her backwards, his mouth hard and demanding. She clamped a hand behind his head and fought back assiduously. They dueled with their lips, engaging each other in battle physically when neither had the energy left to do so emotionally. In the back of Brennan's mind, she hoped her kiss made a clear point that she couldn't otherwise express. _Thank you_.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He'd always been a little obsessed with Brennan physically, but now that he could actually do some of the things he'd been dreaming about, Booth didn't fight it. Sure, getting into the car and to the actual Waffle House took longer than it should have, but that was because he stopped and kissed her against the bungalow's wall. Against the car door. At every red light. In the parking lot, before they walked inside. What made it better—or worse?—was that Brennan was completely willing. She would probably have kissed him all the way to the cash register and throughout breakfast, if Booth's sense of public propriety hadn't taken over finally. As it was, he didn't wait longer than 30 seconds after exiting the restaurant before dragging her to him again.

"The food was terrible," she informed him, mid-kiss.

"That's why people eat there, Bones." He concentrated on the strawberry syrup glazing his partner's full lips. "It's so bad, it's good. You know?"

Clearly enjoying the maple syrup left over from his waffles, Brennan replied, "No."

A nearby car honked as it pulled out of the parking lot, its owner leaning out the window to yell, "Get a room!"

"We have one," Brennan yelled back, grinning widely as Booth flushed.

His partner had exhibitionist tendencies; the Wonder Woman costume was exhibit A on that end. Booth found it a little disconcerting that they were rubbing off on him. Nevertheless, he couldn't find it in himself to mind as she slid her hand into his back pocket and smirked up at him while they made their way to the SUV.

Trying to find something to turn down the heat at least long enough for them to get into the backseat of the car—he strongly doubted they were going anywhere else for at least 30 minutes—Booth blurted the first thing that came into his mind.

"Hey, Bones. What was the deal with the mug?"

"Mug?" she repeated, squinting in confusion.

"The one Parker smashed. You got this really weird look on your face when you were picking up the pieces."

Brennan stopped and pulled away, creating a deliberate gap of space between them. Her face, previously open and relaxed, got that familiar guarded look and Booth realized he'd done more than turn down the heat. He'd somehow inadvertently thrown cold water on the furnace.

They finished their walk to the car in silence, with Booth scrambling to find a way to fix things and coming up empty on every count. He knew how private she was, and obviously he'd gotten too close to something she wasn't ready to share. As she stood waiting for him to unlock the door, he cursed himself up and down and searched for the right thing to say. Eventually, when they climbed inside and sat beside each other uncomfortably, he said the only thing he could think of.

"Forget it, Bones. It was a stupid thing to—"

"Angela made the mug for me." Brennan looked out the window as she spoke. "It was shortly after I told her about the foster family that locked me in the car trunk. We had an argument about experiences."

She was quiet for so long that Booth finally felt he was supposed to say something.

"Experiences?" he prompted carefully.

"At the time, Angela was studying Buddhism as part of a course in religious art history. She expressed her belief that all experiences in life have some sort of ulterior purpose or meaning. I disagreed."

"They do," Booth interjected. "Bones, we go through stuff for a reason. Everything's connected, kind of like in the human body. You hit one organ and it affects the entire system. You're a scientist; you oughta know that."

"To compare the chaos of life to the human body's inherent organization is absurd! The body is a closed system, therefore, each cellular unit has an impact on the next. Though there are certain environments within the world that are interconnected, human beings are not intrinsically interrelated, nor are their experiences." Brennan scowled. "I don't subscribe to the 'butterfly effect.' You could say that being abused has helped me better relate to a specific type of person who has also shared elements of my history. This in turn has occasionally assisted us during murder investigations. Does that mean that my experiences were inherently positive?"

"No!" Booth shook his head. "Bones, you're twisting things all out of shape. There was nothing good about your childhood abuse. The point is, you took the negative and turned it into a positive. We assign reasons to our experiences in order to give our lives meaning. Maybe the actual event doesn't start out with a purpose, but by eventually looking back and realizing where it fits into the scheme of things, we have a better understanding of why we had to go through it in the first place. It's like … every experience is an opportunity."

Brennan looked completely unconvinced. They'd had this argument in any number of variations over the years, and Booth's jaw tightened as he tried to find a way to get her to see reason, even when 7 years was ample proof that she wasn't going to change her mind on this one.

"What does the mug have to do with the fight?" he finally asked, giving up. Some things were just easier not to argue with her about.

"Angela told me that the hibiscuses and sunflowers on the mug were symbolic of my experience, but that I should not research their connotations. According to her, the meaning would someday be revealed fortuitously." The irate look on her face faded away and was replaced by something softer. Sad. "I am accustomed to finding answers, yet the mug was a mystery to me. I … enjoyed the novelty, even after I'd had it for many years. When it shattered, I was sorry to no longer have that daily reminder of what Angela called 'possibility.'

Booth frowned. "You mean you seriously never looked up the meaning?" Brennan ignoring a mystery was akin to him not chasing down a bad guy.

"She told me not to." Brennan looked at him reproachfully. "I promised."

He started the engine and guided the car onto the road, his mind several steps ahead of the wheels on the SUV. He knew the area well, and if memory served him …

"Where are we going?" Brennan asked as they passed their motel and he didn't turn in.

He pointed at a corner of a strip mall where he and Parker used to stop at the surprisingly well-stocked food court. The little store with its walls decorated in all manner of exotic blooms and its cheerful purple and white sign, _Violet's Vincas, _was at odds with the graying buildings all around it.

"It's way past time you figured out what those flowers mean."

"But, Angela said—"

"She said you couldn't research it. Not me." Booth slid his car into a parking space. Seeing the stubborn look on Brennan's face, he opened his door and decided this argument, at least, he was going to win. "Look. Angela said the flowers' meanings would be fortuitously revealed, right? That mug smashing was fortuitous. If Parker hadn't broken it, I wouldn't have come over and you might never have told me about possibly being sick."

They stood on the pavement, glaring at each other.

"I might have told you," Brennan objected. "You can't say for certain that I wouldn't have."

"Maybe if the diagnosis came back positive I might have heard something. If not …" Booth shook his head. "Nothin'. You never would have said anything."

"If the diagnosis was negative, there would have been no need for me to tell you," she retorted.

"Yeah?" Booth went for the jugular. "What if I told you that a few months back I had a cancer scare of my own and didn't say anything?"

The expression on her face, like she'd been slapped, told him he'd taken things a step too far.

"You suspected a recurrence of your brain tumor?"

"No, Bones." He sighed, feeling as guilty as he was frustrated. "I'm fine. The last check-up, everything was fine. Just—how would you have felt if I didn't say something to you, even if it turned out to be nothing?"

She was quiet for a moment, the emotional gears in her mind turning slower than the rest as they struggled to catch up.

"I see your point," she finally replied.

That was concession enough for him. Booth nodded and started toward the shop. "C'mon."

Brennan stepped in front, blocking his progress. She reached up and kissed his cheek lightly, like she did every now and then when her vocabulary wasn't enough to match her feelings. She slid her arm through his and looked up at him with a shy smile.

"Opportunity is ringing."

"Huh?"

"Our conversation earlier. You stated your belief that every experience is an opportunity."

Only Brennan could stir him up this badly, leaving him strung out somewhere between confused and elated in the space of a few sentences.

He started them walking in the direction of the store again, chuckling. "Knocking, Bones. Opportunity is knocking."

She butted her head into his shoulder. "Why not ringing?"

"Because there's no doorbell on opportunity, Bones."

"There could be."

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"It's just a door, Bones. Opportunity's old-fashioned. No bells."

"Then somebody should metaphorically install one. It's easy not to hear someone knocking."

"That's the point. Opportunity isn't always obvious."

"I still prefer my idiom."

"Bones, you can't just co-opt an age-old saying just because you disagree with it."

"My idiom is more suited to the 21st century."

"There's no expiration date on idioms. When you hear opportunity, you hear knocking. Not ringing."

"What about texting?"

"Nope. Knocking. It's always gonna be knocking."

"An opportunity could arrive by text. Or email."

"It's knocking. Not buzzing or ringing or vibrating. Good old-fashioned knocking."

"What if there's no door?"

"There's always a door."

"What if there isn't?"

"There will be."

"There might not. A doorbell would be a good precautionary measure. Opportunity both knocking and ringing would be more efficient than mere knocking."

"Ha! Nice try, Bones, but it's not happening …"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Next chapter—floral connotations. Plus, Brennan encounters the clawwwwwww, and schools a surprised Booth on the wiles of Oikake, Machibuse, Kimagure and Otoboke. (I'm gonna go all Angela here and recommend you not research the names. Allow their meanings to be revealed to you … fortuitously. ;) )**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting. Internet access was non-existent while on vacation. It was really nice to come back to an inbox full of kind reviews for the last chapter of **_**Collide**_**. Thanks! =) As always, thanks also to EternalDestiny304 for the honest insight she provides with her betas, which always helps me grow as a writer. **

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

A teenager with a nose ring and a wild green Mohawk looked up as Booth and Brennan walked in, still bickering. In addition to a multitude of tattoos and ear gauges, he also wore dollar store glasses that, bizarrely, had had their lenses removed. Somehow, his image was at odds with what Brennan had expected from the shop's exterior.

"Not exactly a Violet, is he," Booth whispered in her ear.

Brennan elbowed him and stepped up to the counter, discarding her erroneously preconceived notions. "We are researching societal connotations and symbolism traditionally ascribed to specific flora."

Before Booth could translate, as he had an irritating—and unnecessary—tendency to do, the kid hopped off his stool and disappeared through a curtain behind the counter.

"Way to go, Bones." Booth dug his hands into his pockets and looked around the store. "He's probably running for his life out the back door."

"Why would he do that?" She wandered over to a series of large pots labeled "rare Himalayan poppies."

"You gotta know how to talk to kids. Sounding like their chemistry teacher isn't a good way to establish a rapport." Booth stuck his nose over her shoulder and peered at the striking blue flower. "Is that thing real?"

Brennan examined the flower's large, paper-like blossoms. "It's real. However, I do not believe 'rare' is an appropriate characterization of the species. I suspect it is quite prevalent in the Himalayas and is simply not native to this country. What's wrong with sounding like a chemistry teacher?"

"C'mon, Bones." He stepped around her to scrutinize a tall, unopened bulb with leaves so shiny they looked waxed. "Chemistry teachers are scary."

"Mine weren't," she objected, turning her attention to a small golden flower with almost translucent petals. "The first man I was ever sexually attracted to was—"

"Whoa!" Booth almost knocked over a potted coleus as he waved his hands suddenly in the air.

Brennan stared at him, bemused. "What's wrong?"

"Some old guy in a lab coat who was fifty years older than you? Seriously, Bones?"

"Dr. Cifuentes was not—"

He clapped his hands to his ears and backed away. "I don't wanna know!"

"In all likelihood, you also entertained romantic fantasies about one of your teachers," she pointed out reasonably. "It's a normal part of adolescence."

"There was nothing normal about your—" Booth trailed off, his comically horrified expression replaced with genuine dismay. "That's not what I meant."

The accidental double meaning of his words triggered a rush of painful memories about her abnormal childhood. Irritated at her emotional reaction when she knew very well what his innocent, teasing intent had been, Brennan focused her attention on a nearby row of seedlings.

"Bones."

The tiny leaves had interesting black and white stripes whose genetic purpose she idly wondered about. Did they attract a specific type of pollinator?

Booth moved in beside her, not close enough so they touched, but crowding her nonetheless. "Hey. I'm sorry."

"I'm aware of what your intended meaning was." Brennan side-stepped away, bending over a pot to get a closer look at the ridges on a scooped leaf's underside. They could be designed for water retention. "There's no need for an apology."

Usually her partner took hints much better than she did, but on this occasion he was proving stubbornly clueless. He closed the distance between then again and gripped her shoulder, refusing to let go when she tried to pull away.

Booth held her gaze as firmly as he held her arm. "It was a stupid thing to say. Just call me a jackass and get it over with."

In spite of herself, a small smile tugged at the corner of Brennan's lips. "Given your knowledge of my history, your remark _was _somewhat asinine. Get it? You said jackass, which utilizes the root 'ass,' and I parried with asinine, whose prefix is—"

"Now that's just mean, Bones," Booth interrupted, grinning as he looped an arm around her waist and squeezed her lightly. "Using the dictionary against me."

"You're on security camera."

Startled, the partners both jumped slightly as they realized the store employee had returned.

"Just in case you decide to get too friendly," the kid said snidely, pointing at a video camera overhead.

Booth frowned and Brennan nudged him warningly. He disentangled himself from her and moved toward the counter, shoulders squaring and jaw tightening. She knew she should intervene, but found watching the aggressive transformation blatantly arousing.

On the receiving end of Booth's intimidating stare, the teenager shoved a thick book across the counter and backed away. "Symbolism of specific flora," he mumbled defensively, before scooting back behind the curtain.

"You need to revisit the dictionary definition of scary," Brennan commented mildly. "You are much scarier than a chemistry teacher."

"Kid needs to learn some manners," Booth snapped, slapping his palm on the counter.

"Given his physical appearance, I would surmise that his social peer group has a different definition of politeness," she replied, coming over to the counter and picking up the dusty, green, gold-lettered book. "The Meaning of Flowers, from A to Z. A Scientific and Symbolic Analysis."

Booth continued to mutter under his breath as Brennan turned to the first page. "I don't understand the title. Science and symbolism are not congruent topics." She skimmed over the introduction, scoffing at the authors' attempt to rationalize their title with emotive arguments that were completely lacking in scientific credibility. "I do not believe this book will be an authoritative reference on the anthropologically designated significance of a sunflower or hibiscus."

Obviously still annoyed, Booth grabbed the book away and flipped through the pages, stumbling over the long scientific names as he read them aloud. "_Haageocereus._ Sounds like some kind of dinosaur plant. _Haastia, Habenaria, Haberlea, Habranthus, Hacquetia._ Who names these things? _Haemanthus, Hakea, Hakonechloa, Halesia. _Whatever happened to plain old hydrangeas? Geez."

"You're looking in the wrong place." The teenager's defensive voice drifted through the curtain.

Booth scowled as the kid reemerged and approached them cautiously, holding his hands out for the book. "The lady said hibiscus, right?"

"That's correct," Brennan replied, before Booth could launch into one of his high moral ground lectures.

The store employee flipped multiple chapters forward. "You gotta look at the scientific name." A moment later, he held the page out for their inspection, one long fingernail pointing to the italicized genus. "_Malvaceae."_ He directed a smirk at Booth before depositing the book on the counter and folding his arms in front of his scrawny chest.

Impressed, Brennan scanned the page. There was an extended narrative about the suspected origins of the flower's 200+ varieties, followed by a detailed drawing and explanation of physical characteristics that Hodgins would probably have found highly interesting. Several pages in, the authors finally began commentary on the perceived symbolism of the flower in various cultures.

"_Delicate beauty. Summer_." She raised her eyebrows at the next entry. "_Chastity. Virginity._ I fail to see how any of these relate to my negative experiences in foster care. When Angela gave me the mug, I was very sexually act—"

"Gimme that." Booth flushed and snatched the book away, but not before directing a death glare at the snickering kid. "_Immortality. Weddings. Estranged love_. Okaaay, no contradiction at all there … _Gentleness. Compassion. Royalty. Seize the opportunity_. Ha!" He waved the book under Brennan's nose. "See that, Bones? _Opportunity_. Knocking on the door, right there."

"Even if I did turn my abuse into what you call an opportunity, Angela had not even started working with me at the time we had the conversation," Brennan argued. "She could not have known that I would eventually use my background to inform my interaction with the families of murder victims."

The teenager backed up several feet, his eyes widening behind their empty frames.

Booth wrapped an arm around her shoulders and towed her far enough that their conversation would be less easily overhead by their interested audience.

"She knew, Bones. Anybody who's known you for even an hour knows." He leaned in close, his eyes as soft and intent as his voice. "Whatever else Angela was thinking when she made that mug, I'd bet good money she was amazed."

"You should not be betting," she answered uncomfortably. "For her to select a symbol of opportunity when I had yet to do anything with those experiences—it doesn't make sense."

"She knew," he repeated. "You amaze people, Bones. You know. Not always for the right reasons, or anything –"

Brennan punched his shoulder and laughed, relieved. "I am amazing in many ways."

He scowled and rubbed his arm pointedly. "You know, you really need to learn a little false modesty."

"Royalty means respect."

Booth and Brennan swiveled toward the teenager. He dropped his carefully coiffed head as they glared at him.

"Well, it does," he muttered, toying with the frayed edges of the book's cover. "I'm just sayin'. That's one of the flower's meanings."

"What do sunflowers mean?" Booth's tone had an edge that Brennan recognized as testing a suspect.

"Don't even have to look that one up," the teenager shrugged, opening the book all the same. "People ask all the time." He turned the pages rapidly, then turned the book in their direction. "Happiness. Longevity. Flexibility. Loyalty. Pride. Strength."

"Some of those make sense in a symbolic context." Brennan followed Booth back to the counter just in case he decided to teach the kid a lesson anyway. She half-hoped he would, so she could watch him go into FBI mode again. To her disappointment, Booth seemed more interested in actually reading the page than in disciplining the eavesdropping adolescent. She ducked under his shoulder and read along with him before looking back up again.

"I don't understand why a sunflower would symbolize pride or strength."

"The way they hold those big heads up." The teenager shoved his glasses back over the first spike of his Mohawk, looking much less sullen. "You know, people think they follow the sun across the sky, but only young plants do. Once they get this big—" he splayed his hands as if to indicate a large sunflower head, "they stay in one place. See?" He interrupted Booth's reading by turning the page and pointing at an italicized series of chemical equations.

"No way," Booth complained, as Brennan scanned the equations interestedly. "You people need to learn to just appreciate things without putting letters and numbers all over the pictures."

The teenager, whose faded nametag Brennan now realized read _Lloyd_, leaned back and jammed his hands into the flower shop smock that hit just above the torn knees of his jeans.

"_...the heart that has truly loved never forgets,  
But as truly loves on to the close,  
As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets,  
The same look which she turned when he rose."_

He sneered at the look of surprise on both their faces. "Thomas Moore. Not what you were expecting from someone who looks like me, huh."

"No," Brennan agreed. "It was foolish of me to assume that your physical appearance or age would dictate your intellect." She looked at Booth. "Parker might one day choose to become part of an anthropological sect like Lloyd's. That would not diminish his intelligence or—"

"Over my dead body." Booth slammed the book shut firmly. "Opportunity and strength. There you go, Bones. Mystery solved." He grabbed her elbow and steered her towards the doorway. "I'm still hungry."

"We just ate!" Brennan exclaimed, dodging a shiny blue urn planted with what looked like shaggy fire pokers.

Booth lowered his voice significantly as he held the door open for her. "Not that kind of hungry."

"Oh." Brennan belatedly picked up on the desire in his eyes. "You were utilizing a double-meaning for physical and sex—" He gave her an alarmed glare. "Sexual urges," she whispered. They stepped out into the sunshine and she grinned up at him. "I am also 'hungry.'"

The pressure of his hand on her back increased significantly as he physically propelled her in the direction of the SUV, dark eyes fixated on the target ahead.

"Wait!"

They stopped in surprise and turned to find Lloyd hurrying towards them, brandishing a red hibiscus. He held it out to Brennan, a shy smile lighting his young face. She regarded it uncertainly.

"Flowers are socially connotative of romantic feelings," she said slowly, glancing up at Booth for confirmation. She couldn't read the look on his face and stumbled over her next words, trying to be sensitive to the young man while fully aware that sensitivity was not her area of expertise. "If you are proposing some form of liaison, that would be most inappropriate, however understandable. I am very beautiful and your hormones are—" Booth cleared his throat warningly and looked up at the sky.

Lloyd flushed and clutched the delicate bloom so tightly that it was a surprise the stem didn't snap.

Brennan tried again. "I appreciate your compliment. However, even if our age and socio-economic status weren't factors, I am … unavailable."

"No. Sorry, lady, but you're not exactly—" Lloyd trailed off, skewered by Booth's warning glare. "I have a girlfriend." He proffered the flower insistently. "Put it behind your right ear."

Brennan took the bloom from him and held it up to her nose, enjoying the sweet, cinnamon-like fragrance. "Why?"

Lloyd tilted his head so she could see the yellow flower tattooed just beneath his right ear. "Right tells the world you have a lover and are off the market. Left says single and searching. A flower behind both ears says you've got somebody but you're looking anyway." He eyed the two of them, his heavily-lined eyes narrowing. "But I mean—you two are obviously—right?"

This time, reading Booth's face was singularly easy. Brennan tucked the flower carefully into place.

"Thank you."

He nodded and started back toward the store where a young woman in similar attire now stood in the doorway, obviously waiting impatiently. They watched her pull him inside and close the door, but not before hanging a 'Closed' sign.

"It would appear we are not the only ones hungry," Brennan grinned.

"They're gonna need Tums afterwards," Booth muttered, dragging his hand through his hair and glancing at her. "Unavailable, huh."

"I do not like the term 'off the market,'" she commented, rearranging her flower so it sat more comfortably. "It implies I was for sale."

"It's just slang, Bones." He shifted his stance so he looked oddly defensive, although Brennan didn't understand why. "Doesn't mean anything."

"I would be very expensive." Brennan looked at the various stores surrounding them, ranging from a pizza place and car insurance firm to a nail salon and pet grooming facility.

"Can I afford you?" Booth's question drew her attention from a restaurant trumpeting a disconcerting fusion of Chinese and Greek flavors.

"The pricetag I was referring to was metaphorical only. I have no need for you to purchase anything for me," she pointed out, before reflecting that he might be utilizing a double meaning again.

Booth rubbed the back of his neck in a familiar gesture that he tended to use when nervous. "Am I still competing with other shoppers?"

It was a couched question that referred to a level of commitment which had previously proved a breaking point in their relationship. Brennan stood quietly for a moment, thinking back over the events of the last couple years. When she finally answered him, it was with a nod in the direction of Vinca's Violets just to make sure her tentative metaphor was understood.

"My store is closed."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Booth was fully aware he'd set himself up for another Brennan-style hit and run—him doing the hitting, her doing the running. He hadn't intended to force the issue so quickly, but his desire to know where he stood with her had overridden his common sense. Her unexpectedly firm, quiet answer hit him with the impact of a high caliber bullet, but it had nothing on her next words, delivered as they were with a shy little smile.

"What will it cost to take you off the market? I am very wealthy."

In spite of the full on marching band parading through his head, he played it as cool as he could. "It's buy one get one free, Bones," he said casually, aware that his ear-to-ear grin was completely giving him away. "I bought you. You get me."

"That doesn't make sense," she frowned. "If you are the purchaser, you are the one who should be getting the free—"

"I think we're both done shopping, Bones." He kissed her, stopping the thread of squint logic before she got too obsessed with untangling it. The sun beat down on them viciously, but it had nothing on the heat the partners generated.

"You need a flower," she eventually murmured into his lips.

"Huh?"

She pointed at her hibiscus. "To demarcate your romantic status."

He coughed. "Ha. Yeah, uh, we'll have to come up with a better marker, Bones. FBI guy wearing flowers … not exactly the message I want to be sending bad guys."

"You could get a tattoo," Brennan suggested, pulling him in the direction of a shop he hadn't noticed. "Tattoos are societally acceptable for alpha males."

Booth hung back slightly. Much as the idea of a physical symbol of commitment appealed to him, the shop's literal sign, _Carved,_ put him in mind of Thanksgiving Dinner, with him as the turkey. Trust Brennan to skip a ring and go straight for a needle instead. Not that he wanted to look like a wimp or anything.

"It might even enable you to infiltrate the criminal element more easily," she enthused. "Many of the gang members we have investigated have had elaborate body art."

"Yeahhhh," he stalled, not quite sure whether she was being typically clueless or was making an unusually good joke. "I don't know, Bones—"

"You could get an artistic representation of a skull with my initials in it. Because skulls are bones and your nickname for me is Bones. It could be designed to look as if it is squinting. Get it?"

Booth let out a relieved breath, realizing he'd been had. "Very funny, Bones."

"It was," she replied, grinning mischievously. "You believed I was serious."

"No way." He denied the accusation out of male pride. "You're not that spontaneous, Bones. You'd have to have some design all picked out and designed by Angela before you'd even consider getting inked."

He'd expected some big argument about how spontaneous she could be, but her eyes were suddenly focused beyond him, widening slightly.

"Look!"

Booth turned, half-expecting to see some scientific store that he'd missed, but found only a grubby-looking video game arcade behind them.

"The clawwwwwwwww," Brennan enthused, shoving past him to get to the window. She pointed at the toy-sized crane in the window, surrounded by a pile of stuffed animals ranging from antique Finding Nemo clownfish to a goofy-looking blue macaw.

He stared at his partner, bemused by the delight on her face. "Where did you even see that movie?"

"Angela required me to watch all three films with her when she was pregnant." She pointed at one of the rubbery green toys in the machine. "The clawwwwwww."

He shook his head, as amused by her excitement as he was by her lousy imitation. "The aliens didn't sound anything like that."

"The clawwwwwwww," she repeated, shaping her fingers into mini-cranes and waving them at him.

Booth did his own open-and-close imitation. "The clawwwwwwww," he intoned. "The claw chooses who will go and who will stay."

She beamed at him, completely unabashed by his criticism. "The claw is our master."

A small child and her mother exited the store and gave them curious glances, which embarrassed Booth far more than Brennan.

He dug into his pocket for change. "You want your own personal alien? Bet I can win you one."

"No betting." Brennan loudly warned him as they entered the store, "The machines have pre-calibrated motion, aperture and strength settings designed to make winning a prize extremely difficult. Some cranes have programming that causes the grip parameters to readjust so that a prize is not won until a pre-set payout percentage is reached that will allow the owners to recoup the value of the prizes inside."

"Wish somebody had told me that before I wasted $10," a weary-looking mother groused from several machines away. She hoisted her wailing toddler into her arms and stalked out of the store, leaving them the only people in the store other than a nearby employee. He swept underneath a pinball machine with unnecessary ferocity and muttered obviously not nice things under his breath.

"See what you did, Bones?" Booth deposited a dollar's worth of quarters in the slot. "You just cost the store money. Now I have to play."

"If the machine dispenses too many prizes, it will become inactive, as though malfunctioning," she warned, watching as lights flashed and the claw moved into place. "This enables the owner to recalibrate settings to make the game more difficult."

"Don't get us kicked out of here, huh, Bones," he muttered, focusing on the glowing controls. "I wanna give that air hockey table a shot before we leave."

He pressed play and tapped the **up **arrow lightly, guiding the crane in the direction of a well-positioned toy. It stopped a few centimeters short of the target and he touched the arrow again, overshooting the alien slightly. The machine hummed a warning, informing him his game time was almost up as Booth pressed the **down **button. The crane lowered, its jaws closing harmlessly around the backside of a stuffed bear before beginning to rise again.

"You see?" Brennan said beside him. "That toy is probably only worth a few dollars, but the machine is set so that you have to spend at least $15 before winning it."

The closing claw snagged on the blue fabric of a nearby alien's shirt and stopped, vibrating.

"You got it!" she shrieked, pressing her hands against the glass like a little girl. "Booth, you got it!"

"Shhh." Booth gripped the joystick he had so far ignored and very gently began to maneuver the claw towards him. .

"Don't lose it," Brennan urged as the alien bobbed precariously, held only the smallest of margins in the metallic jaws. "Go slow, Booth. It was a fortunate accident."

"No accident. This is all about skills, Bones." He brought the crane up to the edge of the chute and pressed the release button. The toy dropped with a soft _plunk _and Booth reached in and retrieved it with a smug smile. "I won the bet."

"We didn't wager anything." Brennan took the toy from him and squeezed it. The alien squeaked. "It will be a nice present for Angela's infant. Thank you."

"You're not giving Angela my toy," Booth retorted, affronted. He grabbed it away from her and started toward the back of the room. "If you don't want him, he can sit on my desk at work."

Brennan trailed after him. "I will keep it then." She made a grab for the alien. "I'll give the baby something else." Another futile grab. "Give me the alien, Booth. I want him."

"Maybe if you beat me at air hockey." He squeaked the toy at her, just out of reach.

"I've never played," she objected, eyeing the table uncertainly. "You have a distinct advantage."

"The claw chooses who will go and who will stay," he handed her a mallet. "It's easy, Bones. You just have to get the pucks into the goal or block the other person's shots. First person to score 7 points wins the alien …." he waved the toy teasingly.

She walked to the opposite side of the table as Booth deposited enough coins for one round and the whir of the air compressor started up.

"Hold the mallet with just your fingertips," he advised. "It gives you better wrist action. Ready?"

Brennan gripped her mallet. "Play."

Booth set a puck on the table and sent it skimming in her direction with a leftward spin. She positioned herself to block the shot, but, as he'd calculated, it bounced off the corner of the table, reversed direction, and banked neatly across the electronic goal line.

She scowled and shoved her flower back into place. "I was unprepared for that tactic."

"Try, try again," he grinned, sending another puck into play.

She did better this time, countering his shots multiple times before he scored his second point. He was almost surprised when she tied the score shortly after, but not completely. This was Brennan, after all. Her learning curve for all activities, air hockey included, was plenty steep.

They volleyed back and forth for several minutes, vying for the third point aggressively before she finally bypassed his defenses and cheered loudly.

"Don't count your chickens, Bones," he warned her, "I could call a foul on that for topping."

"I don't know what that means." She put the puck back in play.

"You can't put your mallet on top of the puck." He caught the side of the puck and spiraled it back in her direction. "That was a diamond drift," he said smugly as it careened off several sides and scored him his fourth point. Pretending the mallet was a gun, he blew imaginary smoke off the 'muzzle.' "Seeley Booth special for the lady. Oh, yeah."

While he was busy showing off, Brennan mimicked his move exactly and tied the score again. She smiled. "This game is interesting," she commented, parrying his next move with ease. "It relies on the scientific principles of—"

Booth squeaked his alien, throwing off her sentence. "No science lessons while I'm playing hockey, Bones. The textbooks need to stay firmly locked in their upright positions …" It was almost unfair of him to score a point while the gears in her mind whirred, translating that idiom, but her ferocious retaliation relieved him of any guilt.

The electronic scoreboard flashed **5-5 **and he added another dollar to the machine.

"Try this one on for size, Bones."

The size fit her very well indeed, leading to 6th and 7th points in rapid succession from Brennan. She dropped the mallet and held out her hand. "I won the alien."

"Two out of three?" Booth suggested.

"Mine," Brennan said firmly, rounding the table and reaching for the toy.

He contemplated wrestling with her—that had definite possibilities—but they were in public. Stifling a sigh, he handed over her prize. Brennan squeaked her alien victoriously and sauntered over to an old-fashioned Pac-Man stall, with an unusually large screen.

"Zack and I like this game," she commented.

"You and Zack?" Booth repeated in astonishment

Brennan nodded, peering at the virtually antique yellow and green display. "He gets bored in the hospital. After he wrote a dissertation on video games, Hodgins and I purchased the game for him. Sweets pulled some yarn to help get permission for him to have it installed in the communal lounge."

"Pulled some strings." Booth corrected automatically. "Sweets pulled some strings—Zack wrote a dissertation on video games?"

"On the progression of technology as applied to the games, yes, and the engineering principles applied therein."

He shook his head. The idea of the two squints playing arcade games was more than a little strange.

"After studying the game for several weeks and practicing, Zack achieved a perfect score with less than 2.3 hours of play," she said, sounding like a proud parent. "It was a record-breaking achievement." She tapped the console. "I want to play. Do you have more change?"

"3,333,360 points in less than two hours?" Booth made a mental note to tag along on her next visit. "Good thing you squints keep your obsessing to scientific things. Otherwise you'd wipe the rug with the rest of us average human beings." He handed her the last of his coins.

She moved to insert the change, then stopped, surprised. "The game costs $7.50 per play."

"What!" Booth looked at the coin slot, which was actually a dollar slot. "No way." He turned toward the store employee sitting on a stool nearby, watching them gloomily. "This is a typo, right? You mean .75 cents?"

"No." The guy got up and wandered over to them, waving at a group of young customers who had just entered the store. "This is dual Pac-Man. It costs more because of the modifications we made."

"Dual Pac-Man?" Booth echoed, for the first time really noticing the two sets of controls on the machine.

"People can play against each other." He walked away without further explanation of how this could be possible.

"We have to play," Brennan said excitedly. "If the gaming experience is fun, I can see about procuring a similar set-up for Zack. He has currently exhausted the game's possibilities, but if instead of Pac-Man he could become Oikake or Machibuse or Kimagure and Otoboke—"

"Oinky and Macky what?" Booth interrupted, feeling weirdly out of his league and really not liking it.

"The Pac-Man villains," Brennan explained. "In English, we call them Blinky, Pinky, Inky and Clyde. In Japanese, the names are more directly correlated to the movements the characters are programmed to make. Red is Oikake, meaning chaser. Machibuse is pink, and he ambushes. Kimagure is cyan, and is fickle. His movements are less overtly regularized. Orange's name, Otoboke, literally translates as stupid because of the misconception that the character follows no set pattern. Zack's study reveals this to be an erroneous analysis on the part of amateur game players."

"I'm not sure I want to play with you," Booth said slowly. "I haven't spent several hundred hours studying the movements of Porky Pig and Mack the Knife."

"I played air hockey with you." She was already pulling out her wallet and extracting dollar bills. "Are you afraid of losing to me?"

_Not so much losing as getting creamed_ _and completely losing any street cred_, he thought silently, before letting his usual bravado lead him into dangerous waters.

"Are we betting the alien again?" he asked, settling onto one of the stools in front of the game.

She clutched her toy a little tighter. "No. You are not supposed to gamble at all."

He chuckled and turned his attention to the screen as it lit up, displaying a typical black and blue Pac-Man screen with the Technicolor bad guys all lined up in a row beside the game's hero. Except that there were two heroes in this line-up, one the familiar yellow and another which was watermelon green.

"How does this even work?" he asked. "Are we competing for pac-dots? If one of us loses all our lives, does the other just keep going?"

She shrugged and sat down beside him, stowing the alien between her feet. "So it would seem. It remains to be seen how the interactions with the villains differ when there are two players operating. Ready?"

He didn't bother answering as she hit the white start button and tensely gripped the joystick on her side. The screen flashed once and then the cluster of ghosts began to exit their cage at center-screen, unusually rapidly, according to Booth's vague memories anyway.

Brennan was already off and chowing down on dots. He went in the opposite direction, heading for a power pellet in the far left hand corner. He tried to remember what Brennan had told him about the movements of each monster, but they all seemed to be doing exactly one thing—chasing him.

"Why aren't they going after you?" Booth whined, turning a corner and reversing hastily as Blinky tried to corral him.

"It would appear that the fruit my Pac-Man consumed had the temporary effect of sending all the bad guys in your direction," Brennan answered, hurrying away as the ghosts now fanned out in her direction.

Booth mulled this over as he found himself in a traffic jam directly behind Brennan, with a ghost only a few spaces behind him. "Move it, Bones. I'm about to lose a life here."

"It would appear that your need to serve as a human shield for me carries over into the world of video games," Brennan snickered, making her escape as Clyde killed Booth.

His Pac-Man reappeared at the bottom of the screen again and Booth wasted no time gunning for the last of the pellets, only to find that Brennan was heading the same direction as he was. They vied for openings in the maze, dodging the various ghosts until Brennan finally scooped up the last power pellet and suddenly turned on Booth and swallowed him.

"Hey!" he shouted in surprise as his second life vanished before his eyes. "That isn't supposed to happen!"

Brennan smiled evilly and ate the last pac-pellet. "You are not very good at this game, Booth."

The display rolled over to the next level, answering one of Booth's questions. If he died, apparently Brennan could continue to keep playing. He had no intention of dying, however; there was an extra life hiding in the corner of the screen. He swallowed a power pellet and sent the ghosts in his partner's direction. She yelped and physically turned her body as her character turned a corner.

He chuckled. "Say hello to my little friends, Bones."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Next Thursday, in lieu of a new chapter, I'll post a one shot. Thanks to everybody who reviewed last chapter and to Eternal Destiny 304 for her endless patience and encouragement.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan smirked at him from across the table, obviously savoring her victory as much as the pizza that she was now inhaling. Annoyed as he was at being so completely bested, Booth couldn't help but grin at how cute she looked with cheese dangling from her lips. He reached over and used his index finger to swipe tomato sauce from the corner of her mouth.

"I would have liked to keep playing," she complained, using a napkin to wipe away the remainder of the mess.

Booth fended off her attempt to steal the olives from his last slice. "Two hours was all the time my wallet could handle."

"We could have returned to the hotel for my wallet," Brennan insisted, sitting back and taking a long sip of her iced tea. "It was only a few blocks away."

He swatted her hand away again. "Order another slice if you're still hungry. There were other people waiting to play, Bones."

She frowned. "They would not have been as good at the game as I was."

"Doesn't mean they shouldn't get their chance anyway," Booth said over a large mouthful.

Brennan glanced at her watch. "They've had an hour to play while we've been eating. Can we go back when you're finished?"

"Geez, Bones." He raised an eyebrow and downed the remnants of his water. "Addicted much? Sounds like you might need a twelve step meeting."

She stole a runaway olive from his plate and popped it into her mouth. "I'm not addicted. Addiction would involve requiring the game in order to function, playing it repeatedly until my work and personal life suffer. I simply want to test out my theory on a different method of passing level—"

"The first sign's denying it." Booth pushed back from the table. "You need a distraction."

He loved the way her eyes took on a mischievous glow as she went from irritated to interested in a split second.

"Are you proposing any specific kind of distraction?"

"I might have a few ideas."

They traded a long look, the kind they'd been sharing over diner meals for way too many years without doing anything about it.

She leaned in and lowered her voice playfully. "You occasionally have excellent ideas."

"First of all, my ideas are always excellent, Bones." Booth stood up. "And second—this is one of my best ones yet." He nodded in the direction of the door with more than a little urgency. "You wanna leave?"

Brennan's gaze was suddenly far away. "Wait, Booth."

That was totally not the answer he was expecting. "Wait?"

She got up and headed towards the back of the restaurant, where she'd obviously spotted something of interest. Booth followed her, protesting.

"I thought I was going to be the one distracting you." He suddenly worried that she'd spotted an arcade game hiding in the corner or something. "Okay, you seriously need to get yourself a sponsor for this addiction—" He trailed off as she shoved open a door that had been closed previously. "Bones, you don't even know if we're allowed in here!"

"I knew I heard music," Brennan said smugly. "The soundproofing on this room was done poorly."

A white-haired granny-type looked over. She had an electric guitar slung around her neck and was slightly flushed. Over by a six-piece wireless drum set, an older man, presumably her husband, seemed slightly embarrassed.

"Have you ever played?" the granny asked, beaming as she took off the guitar and motioned to her relieved husband to go ahead and leave.

"I don't play a musical instrument," Brennan replied, obviously misunderstanding the question. "That is an unusual drum set."

She'd followed the music, but obviously didn't know what she was looking at.

Booth started to grin. He took the guitar from the woman and settled it around his neck.

"I didn't know you played guitar," Brennan said in surprise, watching as he approached the T.V. that currently was displaying a very familiar logo backlit by orange and yellow flames.

"Oh, yeah, Bones." He selected _Career _mode. "This instrument, I definitely know how to play." He chose 'expert,' the guitar as his instrument, then scrolled to Jimmy Eats World's _The Middle_. The song was mediocre, but he'd played the game enough times with Parker that it was an old standby he knew he could make impressive. So, he'd look and feel a little like a dork, but what the hell. Anything to get Brennan smiling.

"Okay, Bones. Ready?"

"For what?"

"I'm gonna make this baby sing," he crowed, as the screen cued up and the cheering of the crowd started. He could feel Brennan's eyes on his as he followed the chords onscreen.

Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Yellow. Blue. Yellow. Blue. **Green.**

Booth swiveled the guitar as the lyrics started and flashed a grin at Brennan before turning back to the music onscreen without missing a note.

_Hey. Don't write yourself off yet. It's only in your head you feel left out …_

He made an idiot of himself, really bobbing and swaying to the music, egged on by Brennan's huge smile. Booth played the guitar for all it was worth all the way into the freestyle at the end where he pulled a Jimi Hendrix and mimed destroying his instrument as Brennan broke into applause.

"I am very impressed, Booth. Your hand-eye coordination weaponry skills translate into a surprisingly good grasp of this game."

"Yeah?" He grinned wider yet, aware it was a high compliment even if it was typically backhanded. "Wanna try? We can have a contest."

She hesitated. "You will win."

"C'mon, Bones," he wheedled, unslinging the guitar and holding it out to her. "Give it a whirl."

A little reluctantly, she stepped up to the screen.

"I'll pick a fun song for you," he promised, setting her up at an easy level before selecting her song. "Everybody knows this song. You'll be fine. All you do is follow the notes on screen and do what they tell you. If the button stays down a long time, it means you hold it." He instructed her on the finer points of slides and skips before stepping back. "Okay. Here we go. Ready?"

"I'm not—"

_One. Two._

Red. Blue. Red.

"I don't know what to do!" Brennan exclaimed, as she missed the next note, then the next.

Booth stepped up behind her and guided her fingers, knowing she'd catch up in a minute. "Keep it goin', attagirl …"

As she seemed to get the idea, he backed off and started singing.

_Big wheels keep on turning  
Carry me home to see my kin  
Singing songs about the Southland  
I miss Alabama once again  
And I think it's a sin, yes _

He didn't know the next piece, so he played it up like a clown, bobbing and weaving as Brennan started to smile and got into it. She was messing up completely, but she was having fun. The chorus started and Booth yelled it twice as loud, to make up for the lost verse.

_Sweet home, Alabama!  
Where the skies are so blue.  
Sweet Home, Alabama!  
Lord, I'm coming home to you._

He cheered as she dug her fingers in and gave it her best. "All right, Bones! Yeah!"

Brennan laughed and played and laughed some more, and he had more fun watching her than he had showing her up with his own blistering solo. When the long song finally wrapped up and he started to set up another song for her, she backed away.

"I'm terrible at this! It requires a great deal of practice." She waved him away as he tried to get her to take the guitar back. "You play. I prefer singing."

"That can be arranged …" Booth nudged her aside and plugged in the mic. "Hold this."

He scrolled around until he found what he wanted. "Okay. I play. You sing."

"What am I singing?" she asked warily, eyes darting to the screen which he was deliberately blocking.

"You'll know in just a minute." Booth adjusted the guitar, hiding a smile. "Here we go …"

He hadn't played this one much with Parker—it made him think too much of Brennan, and that hadn't been a good thing when he was trying to all but forget she existed—so he didn't tear his eyes away ftom the screen to gauge Brennan's reaction as the iconic intro began and he scrambled to keep up with it. But even without looking, Booth knew she was smiling. The whole room got warmer as he finished his solo and she started to sing.

_Well I'm hot-blooded, check it and see._

_I got a fever of 103._

Booth couldn't help it. He had to look at her, and he missed a couple chords but it was worth it to see her dancing with the mic.

_C'mon, baby, do you do more than dance?_

_I'm hot-blooded, hot-blooded._

He loved her voice, even when she was putting on strange rock-star affectations. Missing more chords, he hammed it up, waving the guitar around while whaling away at it. His mistakes didn't throw her off much and she kept going, putting a little growl into the lyrics.

_You don't have to read my mind._

_To know what I have in mind._

The look she gave him was less seductive and more outright **as soon as this finishes, we're doing a lot more than dancing …**

Booth flushed slightly and struggled to catch up as the music got away from him again. Beside him, Brennan belted,

_Honey, you oughta know._

_Now you move so fine,_

_let me lay it on the line._

_I wanna know, what you're doing after the show._

He made the mistake of glancing at her again and got the same look, with double the heat.

_Now it's up to you … we can make a secret rendezvous._

_Just me and you …I'll show you lovin' like you never knew._

This time, Brennan's coy grin was X-rated. Booth swallowed his tongue and reprised the original intro, singing along with the familiar chorus before howling "I'm hot!" in sync with his partner. Then it was his turn for a long solo, which she bumped and ground her way through in truly unfairly distracting fashion. If this was actually the contest he'd wanted it to be, he was losing for the third time this evening, and winning had never seemed less appealing.

_Now it's up to you … we can make a secret rendezvous._

_Before we do …we'll have to get away from you-know-who …_

They danced around each other with such cheesy grins on their faces that Booth was half-sorry weren't videotaped. Sure, he never wanted the picture of him doing this to leave the room. Then again, he'd love a permanent portrait of Brennan doubled over, her long hair in her face, screaming into the mic before bouncing back upright with her cheeks red and her eyes gleaming.

The song ended with them in close harmony, both breathing quickly for more reasons than the musical exertion. She put the mic down and he pulled her into his chest, his mouth swooping down to catch her lips heatedly. Never one to hold back, Brennan wrapped her arms around him and kissed back almost painfully hard.

"I can see why rock stars get high onstage from doing this," Booth muttered when they finally broke apart.

"This was very distracting," Brennan said by way of reply, grabbing his hand and almost dragging him towards the exit. "This door unfortunately does not have a lock on it. Hurry."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Convincing Brennan to take Monday off work turned out to be a lot easier than expected, now that Booth had sexual leverage to bargain with. Without any need to rush back to D.C., they spent the remainder of the day—minus a couple room service deliveries when Booth threatened sustenance or strike— getting intimately acquainted with each other's bodies, or, in Booth's case, with Brennan's lower half, starting about at her abdomen. They finally gave in to the need for a few hours of sleep about 4:00 a.m.

When Booth woke at 6:30, for no reason he could put his finger on—he was worn out enough to sleep for at least 6 more hours—he discovered Brennan wasn't in bed beside him.

He sat up and scanned the dark room for her silhouette. "Bones?" Not finding it, he got out of bed and checked the bathroom. When she wasn't there, and her clothes weren't anywhere to be found, alarm set in thick and fast as he scrolled through a mental checklist of possibilities before he panicked. She could've gone in search of early morning munchies, maybe, since she hadn't eaten much to replace the calories burned off during their lovemaking. He knew she occasionally suffered from nightmares. Maybe she'd had one and needed to get a breath of fresh air. It took him a minute to come up with another, less pleasant, prospect. Their emotional closeness over the last couple days had finally gotten to her and she'd flipped out and … and what? He was the only one with a car. She wouldn't have caught a plane home. No way. Right? Or she could have felt sick and gone to the hospital … without telling him? She wouldn't do that … right?

Booth yanked on his pants and trawled through the various takeout boxes before locating his cellphone. He speed dialed her number while pacing the room, searching for his shoes and stubbing his toes on multiple hard objects in the process. He cursed and dialed her number a second and third time when she failed to answer the first. He was about to hang up and call the concierge to see if she'd stopped off there, when her voice filled his ear.

"Brennan."

She sounded all right. In one piece, at least. Booth exhaled a furious breath. "Bones, where the hell are you?"

"In the SUV. Why are you awake?"

"Why am I—" Booth broke off the sarcastic report and ended the call. He unlocked the door, stepping into the cool morning air, and crossed the parking lot at almost a jog, getting angrier by the minute. By the time he reached the car, he was seething.

Through the window, he could see Brennan sitting in the passenger seat. He hammered on the window none-too-gently. She pushed open the door and regarded him silently, oblivious to how close she'd come to giving him heart failure.

"Bones, what the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

"I didn't expect you to wake for another few hours." It wasn't an apology, but it was a typically Brennan way of excusing her insensitive actions through logic.

"You scared the crap out of me!" Booth exploded.

"There was no need to worry."

"No need to—" he sputtered. "Bones, it's 6:30 a.m. We went to sleep two hours ago, both so worn out we were almost seeing cross-eyed. What was I supposed to think when I woke up and found you vanished?"

Brennan seemed to consider this, but said nothing in reply. Her hair, still thoroughly disheveled from their lovemaking, lay in soft tangles around her shoulders. He was torn between the desire to shake her or kiss her. Too late, Booth noticed the tension written all over her face.

"What's wrong?" he asked, suddenly terrified that he'd been right and she was sick. Maybe she'd gotten the phone call while he was asleep.

Rather than drop a bombshell of a diagnosis on him, Brennan gestured at the dashboard, which was covered in small white pieces of paper. "There's a piece missing."

Bewildered, Booth looked from the dash to her and back again. "What?"

She sifted through the papers and held one up for him to see. "A piece. It's missing."

Calling on every available saint to give him patience, Booth leaned inside and squinted at the fragment she was showing him. It was a piece of paper, torn from the hotel's complimentary stationery pad, on which a puzzle piece had been carefully drawn.

"Okay, Bones." He took a breath and strove for calm. "A piece of what is missing? How long have you been at this?"

"I woke about 5:00 a.m." Brennan had that vague, disconnected look she got when she was trying to put a wall between herself and an emotional situation. "Throughout the day, I had been thinking about the puzzle you brought over to my place."

"Throughout the day," Booth repeated dumbly. "You mean throughout yesterday. While you were kicking my butt at air hockey and Pac-Man and playing guitar with me. You were thinking about …" he gestured weakly, trying not to acknowledge the disappointment growing rapidly in him, "this. Whatever 'this' is."

"I am an excellent multitasker. Mulling over this task did not detract from my enjoyment of our activities." She didn't look at him, hunched as she was over a selection of homemade puzzle pieces.

He tried one more time. "Bones." He extracted a paper from her hand and turned her firmly to face him. "Explain what all this. In English."

"Why would I use another lang—" Brennan seemed to finally catch on. "I realized upon waking that my concern had been correct. This is a piece missing in the puzzle we were putting together in D.C."

Her answer raised an entire slew of new, far more bewildering questions. Booth leaned against the side of the SUV and closed his eyes, rubbing his face to try and alleviate a rapidly growing headache.

"You've been thinking this whole weekend about the puzzle we left in D.C. You think there's a piece missing. So you've recreated the entire thing here. From memory."

"Not the entire thing. I've created a schematic based on a selection of pieces which allowed me to create a mental composite in my mind of the image we were creating."

Booth opened his eyes and found her back at the puzzle again, moving pieces around. He could have questioned her memory, but that would have been a definite dead end. He knew better than to question her mental capacity, however absurdly over the top it might seem.

"Why?" he finally asked, latching onto the one question that might have a concrete, comprehensible answer. "Why are you sitting out here at 6:30 a.m. moving around puzzle pieces? Even if there is a piece really missing—why?" Frustration colored his words and he didn't try to hide it. Sometimes she was harder to read than Chinese. "Why, Bones? Just, _why?_"

"Puzzles are … peaceful for me," she said quietly, taking him offguard with her soft, almost shy tone. "In my work, as in my life, there are frequently pieces missing that can never be retrieved either physically or metaphorically. I do puzzles as a hobby because all the pieces are guaranteed to be in the box. I need one area of my life where I know the location of all the pieces."

Her voice cracked unexpectedly and she looked up at him, her eyes suddenly damp. The look on her face put him in mind of many years ago, back at the pig farmer's place. She had that same shocked, lost expression, like her world had just been shaken to its very foundations. "I need to find the piece, Booth. The picture is unfinished." Her voice had an edge of despair to it. "I need to finish it."

Okay. Brennan might not be fond of psychology, but this was so not about a puzzle. Booth leaned inside the car and pulled her into his arms awkwardly.

"We need to find it," she repeated, her fingers digging into the back of his shirt fiercely. "I need to find the piece, Booth. I need the puzzle to be complete."

"Okay." He held her close. "Okay, Bones. We'll find the piece. Shhhh. We'll find the piece."

"I want to go back to D.C." She lifted her head and stared at him. "I realize we agreed to take the day off tomorrow. Would you mind?"

He swallowed a sigh. Cutting their weekend short in order to go chase down a missing puzzle piece was so not what he had envisioned. "When do you wanna leave?"

"Immediately."

This time he didn't stifle the sigh as they walked back to their hotel room. In the doorway, Brennan paused to look at him.

"Thank you, Booth."

He waved at her to step inside and start gathering up her stuff. "Yeah."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks to my wonderful beta, Eternal Destiny 304, and to those who reviewed Gunshy and the last chapter of this story. This is the end of this story, I think. There could be more, but this works in my head, as 1000% OOC as it probably is.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Brennan stared down at the completed puzzle, her eyes focused on the lone empty space. For a change, she drew no satisfaction from the physical evidence that one of her carefully reasoned hypotheses had turned out to be correct. She shifted her gaze to the rest of the picture.

The depiction of ocean surf barely lapping at white, sandy beach was inaccurate, given the position of the full moon. So late in the evening, the tide would have been several feet higher. The angle of the red and white lighthouse in the background was impractical; ships would have benefited from its beam much more readily if the building had been set higher on a promontory, rather than so low to the ground.

She traced the ridges of the puzzle, pressing pieces more firmly into place, smoothing edges where the poorly made cardboard was already fraying. Russ' puzzle was of much higher quality, but Brennan found herself thinking of framing this one instead. The notion confused her. It was an overly romanticized picture, down to the crabs scuttling along the shore which would have been swept away if the tide had been at the appropriate height.

"Hey, look at that." A steaming cup of coffee slid onto the table, followed by Booth's large hand on her shoulder. "You finished it."

She wrapped her hands around the mug and tilted her head to look up at him. He had scoured her place for the missing piece, and then tried to help Brennan assemble the picture before she banished him to the couch. His well-meaning efforts had only slowed her pace and she'd hoped he would get a few hours rest while waiting for her to finish. Clearly, that had not been the case. Her partner was every bit as vain about as his appearance as she was, and his rumpled hair and clothing spoke volumes for how tired he was. He was wearing a pair of sweats, minus the shirt, and all that heavy, broad upper musculature was on display for her to appreciate up close.

Brennan reached up and trailed a finger down the center of his sternum. "Why didn't you sleep?"

"I like watching you work." Booth placed his hand over hers, lifting it to his lips. The brief, gentle touch sent an improbable shock of electricity through Brennan. Tired as they both were, she wanted him again, and that same desire was mirrored in his eyes as he kissed her knuckles lightly.

She pulled free and slid her hand to the nape of his neck, drawing his head down towards her. Booth's mouth closed over hers, his lips brushing back and forth over hers in a tender, unhurried caress. His broad, bare shoulders leaned in to frame her body in a similar manner to the way his warm hands framed the sides of her face. Brennan dug her fingers into his deltoids and held on tight, anchoring herself to that solid physical wall in ways she'd never allowed herself with anybody else. He was her metaphorical mooring in so many ways. She wasn't a needy person by nature, but the realization of how much she needed this man in her life as a permanent presence—needed his laughter, his moodiness, his bizarre combination of prudish and daring, his steadfast loyalty and irrational faith—overwhelmed her usual emotional reticence.

"Don't leave me." The words slipped out of her before she even realized she was thinking them.

Before she had a chance to feel embarrassed, Booth chuckled. "Not unless you check me into some kind of a clinic." His low voice whispered over her skin as he pressed a series of small kisses along her jawline. "Are there Twelve Step meetings for addictions to sexy squints?"

He was letting her off the hook and Brennan knew it and was grateful.

She caught his face in her hands and turned it so she could see his face as she mulled over the right words to thank him. 'I love you' wasn't her way. Brennan offered him the next best thing in her mind. "Booth … you are, in a different way from Angela, my best friend."

He smiled just a little, more in his eyes than in his lips, and she knew she'd gotten it right for a change.

"Just make sure it's a way different kind of best friendship, huh, Bones? Defending you from a jealous bug guy isn't on my list of sworn duties."

Brennan felt some of the tiredness lift as Booth waggled his eyebrows at her. He wasn't pushing for more. They both knew they had taken some kind of unspoken first step, and that was enough for today.

"Angela is extremely beautiful and I know that she finds me attractive as well." She grinned at Booth's mildly alarmed look. Teasing him was a source of endless entertainment for her. Brennan looked him up and down deliberately, before coyly running her finger just along the top of the waistband of his sweats. "However, your physique appeals much more to me."

Booth batted her hands away. "Laugh it up all you want. I wouldn't put it past Hodgins to poison me with maggots in order to get back at you and Angela for two-timing him."

She stood up, smirking. "Given your fastidious food preferences, it's unlikely Hodgins could ever come up with a poisoned meal that you would actually eat."

Booth made a gagging sound as he followed her toward the bedroom. "I wouldn't put it past him. He'd probably sneak them into my coffee."

"It would take minimal thought on the part of one who knows you so well to realize that apple pie would be the best delivery mechanism for a deadly toxin."

"Poisoned pie." They paused at the threshold to her bedroom and Booth shuddered visibly. "That's just low, Bones. Way low. How much lower can you even get?"

"Much lower." Brennan tugged at his sweatpants suggestively.

Instead of following her playful lead, Booth reached around her and plucked a piece of paper from her bedside table. "Here. Just so you know me leaving isn't happening anytime in the next century."

Curious, Brennan took the paper and scanned it. It took her a moment to realize she was looking at her 'bucket list.'

"I don't under—" she trailed off as she spotted the Relationships column. Beside '**Sleep with Booth'**, a red notation now declared '**x 10,000.'**

She looked up at Booth and he shrugged sheepishly, rubbing a hand across his stubbled jawline.

"I fixed it. Now you can't ever scratch me off your list."

Booth's eyes darted back and forth, warning her that he needed the same leeway Brennan had been afforded a few minutes earlier with her best friend comment.

She pursed her lips and casually mused, "It will take us far longer than a century to have intercourse 10,000 times."

Looking distinctly relieved, Booth retorted, "Not at the rate we're going. Three times a day for the next ten years will put us over the line pretty quickly."

Brennan laughed. "Our current pace will be unsustainable when we go back to work and require stamina for our professional duties." She peeled off her sweat pants and sat down on the edge of the mattress, then looked up at him mischievously as Booth's eyes hungrily roamed her naked lower half. "But. Hypothetically speaking, what would happen if we did reach 10,000 times?"

"Then I'll add another zero," he replied. "And another when we hit that target."

She watched Booth balance on one leg to remove a sock, then on the other to remove its mate, before shucking his own pants. The casual comfort with which he discarded each garment, as though they'd always been this intimate, gave her an unfamiliar pang of realization. Booth didn't do this with just anybody. He'd chosen her.

As he moved purposefully toward the bed, Brennan got to her feet and reached for the hem of her shirt. Deliberately avoiding looking at Booth, she pulled the blouse over her head and tossed it aside before reaching back to unsnap her bra. She was unaccustomed to being self-conscious about her body and the urge to cross her arms unnerved her. Halfway defiant, she met Booth's gaze head-on, challenging him to find her lacking because of the white bandage marring her left breast. She wasn't sure what would be worse—revulsion or pity.

"Whoa. Bones." The softness in his eyes dismantled part of Brennan's armor. The tenderness in his voice knocked aside the remainder of her defenses, leaving her feeling even more exposed as he approached her, looking not at her breasts, but at her face.

Brennan pressed her face into his shoulder and let him enfold her against his hard, warm body. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back in frustration. Typically Booth, he picked up on her feelings even when Brennan was sure she hadn't made a sound. He nudged her chin up. This time, his voice was firm.

"Temperance. You're beautiful." Very gently, he ran a finger across the curve of her injured breast, never breaking eye contact with her. "You couldn't not be." With infinite care, he leaned in and pressed his lips just above the bandage, sending pinions of heat through her.

Booth carefully pressed her back onto the bed and continued kissing her, always keeping his weight from reclining against her body. She stroked his dark head as he began to kiss her softly, whispering things she'd heard so many times but never before believed like this.

He would love her tonight. He would love her tomorrow. In sickness, in health, and death would not part them because in Seeley Booth's eyes a grave was no impediment to loving.

.

Brennan's diagnosis was uncertain, but one thing was clear and she clung to the awareness that this rock would never be washed away by high tides.

The scientist had long-held views, but, given sufficient concrete evidence, she was open-minded and willing to think differently. The realization was as immutable as the bones in her body. He would love her and she would love him. Always. To think otherwise was to refute seven years of hard evidence. So, why not? Like they always did, they would work through all the problems bound to arise. Together. It wasn't a ball and chain if they both had keys.

She opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. To give him something he wanted so much—it made her smile imagining his reaction.

"Booth. Let's get married."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Open. Ambiguous. I could take it further, but this way the ending is left up to your imaginations. There's no pat resolution or tragic finale. Just Booth and Brennan facing the future together, whatever it may bring. If you really want more, let me know and I'll consider adding to it.**

**That said, unless I get a specific request for more, I'm going to take an extended break from posting. (Extended meaning at least a month, probably.) I've posted almost every Thursday for a fully year and now want to concentrate for a bit on my original novel. School is also starting back shortly. I'm not leaving FF, just recharging my batteries. Thanks so much to all those who followed my weekly postings. Your comments meant a lot to me. I have all kinds of fanfic ideas still simmering, so I'll definitely be back sooner rather than later. =) ~Margarita**


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